Trails Through The Golden West

. S?

Keep Your Card in This Pocket

Books will be issued oily on pretentatai of proper
Hbmxy cards,

Unless labeled otherwise, boob may be retained
for two weeks. Borrowers findlna books marked d&*
faced or mutilated are expectecf to report same at
Hbrctry desk; otherwise the last borrower will be held
responsible for all Imperfections discovered.

the card holder is mspcneible lor all boob dmvm
on tills oard.

Penalty lor over-due books 2c a day plua cost oi
notices,

Lost cards and change of rwidenoe mut be
ported pfcanptly.

Public Library

Kansas City, Mo.
Keep Your Card inThfa Pocket

The Yowwitt*

with a total (IttKC

long fall in t'Juw

lhi arc* tin* lofUwt in ilw world,
<>l 232/1 fWf. Th^ wnlT tinik*^ ii^

Trails Through
the Golden West

Robert Frothingham

Eobert M. McBride & Company

COPYRIGHT,
BY ROBKRT

First VttWishfj.

tn tin

To
EOY STUART FEOTHINGHAM

"Gentleman Unafraid"

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

1. Old Tucson, Threshold of Arizona 3

2, The Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico 13

3. Tombstone Then and Now 22

4, Rainbow Bridge The Discovery 34

5, Rainbow Bridge The Country 45

6. Rainbow Bridge The Reality 53
7 The Grand Canyon of the Colorado 61

8, Down the Canyon Trail 68

9. Threading Bright Angel Canyon 79

10. The Petrified Forests of Arizona 89

11. The Apache Trail 105

12. "Montezuma's Castle" and Casa Grande 117

13. Imperial Valley and the Salton Sea 128
14* Death Valley California's Somber Mystery 185

15, Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt Whitney 146

16, Death Valley- Its History 159

17, Santa Catalma and Palm Springs Canyon 168
18* Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees 174

19, Mou&t Shaita and Crater Lake 191

20, Glacier National Park 06
21* Yellowstone Park, Our Great Wild-Attimal

Sanctuary 217

$2, Zion Park and Bryce Canyon 284

28* The Pamted Desert Country 245

Illustrations

The Yosemite Falls are the loftiest in the world

Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

The giant cactus, the most remarkable of all
desert growths 20

The old mission of San Xavier, not far from
Tucson 21

On the road to Rainbow Natural Bridge 36

Rainbow Natural Bridge has the biggest natural
arch in the world 87

The mighty rocks in Monument Valley 68

A member of one of the proudest and most pros-
perous Indian tribes of the Southwest 69

The series of tremendous caverns which form the
channel of the Colorado River 84

The famous Bright Angel Trail 85

The petrified trees that turned to stone miHions
of years ago 100

The Roosevelt Dam in Arizona 101

Meteor Crater is thought to havt been hollowed
out by a monster meteorite 110

H0ntsmma*$ Cattle* one of the flntit cliff dwell-
ings of the Southwest lit

The sand painters of tht Southwest 182

ix

Illustrations

FACING PAGE

Carriso Gorge, not far from San Diego 133

The sand dunes of Death Valley rcetemble the

waves of the sea
The so-called "Devil's Cora Field" in Death

Valley

The Devil's Golf Course In Death Valley
San Jacinto rises above the floor of the divert in

a sheer wall of stone 165

The atmosphere of Old Spain still hovers over the

ruins of San Juan Capistrano 180

Two thousand feet above the valley floor in

Yosemite National Park 181

Overhanging Rode offers one of the mo$t spec-

tacular views in Yosemite National Park 198

The dome of Mt* Shasta IB one of the most sm~

passive spectacles of the Northwwt 107

Crater Lake occupies the abyii formed by an

extinct volcano 912

Glacier National Park has over two hundred

mountain lake 218

The Graad Canyon and tht Great Palli of

Ydlowrtow 828

The forest rangers 220

Th great gorge of ZIon Canyon
Galleries in the tunnel on the 2aon~Mt Carmd

Highway

famotii eliff ^wdlingi in tht Canyon Dt

JS6S

The Painted Desert, a world of rolling, multi-
colored hHla 208

Trails Through
the Golden West

1

Old Tucson, Threshold of Arizona

A LITTLE more than two centuries and a half ago
** a Jesuit missionary traveled' afoot from Puerto
Libertad across the Mexican desert into what is now
Arizona. Padre Eusebio Kino was a famous Bavarian
priest and pioneer not only a missionary but an archi-
tect and engineer, draughtsman, linguist, scholar and
all-around technician but first and foremost a mis-
sionary* It was his devotion to the Mother Church
which prompted him in 1678 to undertake this
hazardous expedition from the upper eastern shore
of the Gulf of California* But before following the
versatile zealot Into the Golden West of yesterday, a
word about our Arizona of today*

The meaning of Arizona's original Spanish-Indian
name* Ari&onac, is ot known* "Few Springs" is as
good a guess aj the next ; at least it confines itself to
the truth, though a negative side of it* To tell the
whole truth about th Apache State Is impossible ex**
cept to an Apache, a true native of its myriad trails,
lacking in water perhaps, but abounding in colorful
marvels. No little of Arizona's vast area of mountains

8

Trails Through the Golden West

and deserts is still virgin territory and much that meets
the eye is dazzling- to the point of bewilderment and
superb to a degree that baffles a prose vocabulary.
Nothing quite like it in the grandeur of its shadow-
flinging canyons and buttcs is revealed elsewhere on
this globe unless to those whose telescopes bring them
within close range of the pitted surface of the moon*
There is the same unearthly majesty in Arizona's con-
figuration. The very atmosphere is ethereal

In order that the mind may adjust itsdf by degrees
to acceptance of the unexpected it i* as wdl to begin
with the less astounding section of the *tate, visit-
ing towns which have invited the innovation! of our
machine age and are regulated by the clock. These
first before venturing into the timelew wiidernwuf. Thus
gradually, without too great violence to our ato^k of
hyperbole, we may journey from an up-to-date hotel
Into the twilight hush of some Mexican church of the
17th century and thence back into the dciiert * region
primitive at the bedrock of our continent A visit to
Arizona, the real Arizona* it without exaggeration a
return to Nature*

Going back to Padre Kino* Mi miieionary journey
ld him northeastward* two hundiwd and fifty mite
acrosi the deitrt toward the eite of Tucson, when he
was to found the minion of San Xavier del Hue* And
today the road that follows Padre Iln0 f trail* though
it has new btea maeadamktdf asphalted, or oewttd
is jwvtrthdbis a far more inviting highway than many
a&otfetr motor road In out oowtry <w whidh gwafc
df tt&ftigr fc**e fettn sptrtf for It nm thr wgfc the
4

Old Tucson, Threshold of Arizona

very heart of the Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico and
passes some of the oldest and loveliest Spanish missions
in the Southwest. The traveler who is willing to for-
sake the beaten track and retrace Padre Kino's trail
will find in these missions remarkable examples of engi-
neering and architectural skill, all of them built by the
priest and the Papago Indians to whom he ministered.
They are still doing duty today, after two hundred and
fifty years of service, and they bid fair to last as many
years more.

Of all of them, perhaps the most beautiful is San
Xavier del Bac, nine miles south of Tucson, and if we
would see it at its best we shall choose the late after-
noon to motor down, for it is then that the arid desert
is transformed into Apocalyptic glory by the lavender
and golden rays of the Arizona sunset, which illumine
the snowy towers of the mission against the Santa Rita
range in the background. It has not always been so
lovely; built by Padre Kino and his Papagos in 1687
it was later almost wholly destroyed by raiding
Apaches, hereditary enemies of the Papagos, and for
nearly a century it lay abandoned in ruins, until in
1797 it was rebuilt by the Franciscans. They gave it
just enough of the Moorish feeling to suggest the
Alharabra* though many a traveler has seen in its vir
ginal whiteness and exquisite grace a reminder rather
of the Taj Mahal,

From the blinding sunlight without, we enter the
soft, still darkrueis of the interior and pause for a few
momenta to accustom our eyes to the change. Gradually
we tiadterstaiad the reason for the golden glow over our

If

Trails Through the Golden West
heads. Up on the walls the Franciscan builders clever
artists-laid quantities of barbaric goldieaf, but so
high that the light filtering through the clerestory
windows is reflected warm and soft, to mingle with^the
light of the altar candles in just such a mysterious
luminosity as would most effectively impress their con-
verts, Just as impressive to the native worshiper*-*!
certainly not to us are the crude and gaudy pictures
of Biblical scenes, the brilliantly colored and lace-
clothed Holy Families, the haloed saints in their niches.
Only one feature among these furnishings is worth our
attention the pair of huge Castilian lions of carved
wood that guard the altar treasures; the priest folk ua
that they were brought from Spain*

As we leave the church we notice the four-foot thick
walls of adobe, excluding all sound as well as the desert
heat. Ranged along the sides of the courtyard at the
rear are the tiny schoolrooms that in former times
were the monks' cells. Here the Papago children are
being taught by a nun* A narrow stairway in the walk
leads up to an organ-loft no organ, however and to
the bell-towers on the rooi Only one of these towe rs
was ever finished, but the same belli on the iamu iron-
wood beam from which they were hung in 1W still
summon the faithful From this belfry m get t memo-
rable view of the Santa Ritas, casting their long shad-
ows across the golden-brown desert, And while we stand
thtre, an Indian boy may present himself for his duty
of ringing the bells for evensong. The service will b
abort; there wiU be few is ftttettdaaot- perhaps mm
at iH For It mart be tttaittai that the Paptfo of

6

Old Tucson, Threshold of Arizona

today, while still devoted to the mission and proud of
it, is alive also to the financial opportunities it offers.
We are not surprised, therefore, to find especially if
the resident padre is not watching a barefooted na-
tive in blue overalls at our side, eager to guide us
around the place for a consideration. But he cannot
spoil it for us ; its ancient dignity is proof against any
such intrusions, and we leave with the hope that the
Franciscan brotherhood may continue for many years
more in charge of that dignity.

Mountain and desert surround the city of Tucson.
Indeed, the town seems set down in a bowl of desert
ringed on all sides by jagged mountain ranges brilliant
in color. The traveler who is unused to the Arizona
desert will find here a charm that consists partly of
amusement, for it will seem to him that the all-
absorbing concern of the Tucsonian is the effort to
make grass grow. Every householder wants his strug-
gling bit of grass-plot, but he must reconcile himself
to keeping it alive for only half the year. He may, it
appears, choose whether he will have his grass green
during the spring and summer months or during the
autumn and winter he cannot keep it alive the year
round. Six months of life is the limit for Tucson grass.
So as we walk along a prosperous residential street we
shall see here a flourishing lawn* on which the garden
hose plays all day long and next door a patch of for-
lorn brown grass whose life has been burnt out by the
scorching desert sun. Six months later the relative situ-
ation will be reversed. Only one "resident" of Tucson,
apparently, succeeds in maintaining the verdant f resh-

7

Trails Through the Golden West

ness of its lawn throughout the year the Southern
Pacific Railroad, whose station is surrounded by year-
round grass, green and lush, that must make the
Tucsonians sick with envy. And to the desert-weary
traveler who comes in on the Southern Pacific thin
grass-plot seems perhaps the most familiar thing he
has seen thus far in the Southwest. For lw journey has
carried him all day long through a vast expanse of
desert broken only by extinct volcanic craters, around
whose bases rise the columns of the giant cactus- the
Saguaro; interesting* impressive, and not to be for-
gotten. But the moment his train pulls into the Tucson
station he is perfectly willing to exchange It tempo-
rarily for the welcome sight of green grass once more*
And so skillfully do the railroad authorities handle the
problem of rotating crops of grass that it m impos-
sible to see where the outgoing crop leaves off aradl the
new one begins*

But what gives Tucson its undeniable charm in neither
the curiously v&ried grast-plots nor the ubiquitaun um-
brella-tree ; it is the pervasive sense of tht close-creeping
desert roundabout* Prom the outskirts of th town*
where its atreata lose themselv&u in an illimitable growth
of cactus* clear into the heart of the commercial di*
trict, the desert dominate* Even the casual visitor
quickly catches this feeling, so thufc it is hard tot him to
realise that a few miles away and a few hundred feet
above Mm, on the mountain slopes, thane is green* ry in
prousion~ green undergrowth thick around the foot of
the towering forest pints, sixty to seventy-five feet high f
miming npw&rd toward tfe timbtr-Uat like a

a

Old Tucson, Threshold of Arizona

dous army. No what fascinates him here is the desert,
and he will find that once it has laid its spell on him he
will want to return to it again and again, even though
he may not be able to put into words the impression it
has made on him. He will not smile when he hears a rough-
riding cowboy talk of Arizona as "God's Country" he
will cordially agree.

But the desert that for years has made the character
of Tucson now has a rival force to contend with. Like
all the small cities west of the Rockies Tucson is falling
victim to that brand of Progress which is embodied in
enterprising Chambers of Commerce, At the dictates of
the spirit that regards the skyscraper as the perfect
fruit of human endeavor, the primitive charm of Tucson
is fast disappearing. The town is one of the few re-
maining survivals from an era notable for romantic ad-
venture^ and it is hardly less than tragic to see it chang-
ing. When we think of lovely old Tucson, the walled city
with its charter granted by the King of Spain in 1552
Tucson, the "Old Pueblo/* with its ancient Spanish
atmosphere -TucBon with its history as a frontier town,
its peculiar personality not to be duplicated in all the
Southwest Tucson, the home of the rodeo and the in-
trepid and daredevil cowpuneher when our minds go
back to thetse aspects of the city In the past we can only
mourn its present transformation into a "thriving
municipality* 1 * Tucson hustles now; its population is
82,000* it has vacant building lots galor and miles of
suburban land awaiting "development," its hotel and
its office building have skyscraper aspirations. You
realise at once that the citizenry'* idea of attracting

d

Trails Through the Golden West

visitors is to provide them with what they are used
to at home. . . -

But for all that, there is much in Tucson that no
Chamber of Commerce can either mar or destroy. She
can never be robbed of her desert, her heavenly sunsets,
her fine climate; no skyscrapers can prevent; the traveler
from feasting his eyes on the flowering cactus or the
somber dignity of the giant Saguaros. The city and its
environs remain a delight, especially to the enthusiastic
motorist, since what were onco mere desert trails
through Arizona are now for the most part excellent
motor roads. There is little rainfall* and what there
is can be avoided easily* because it in confined to the
months from July to September, when few peraona
would wish in any case to take to deacrt travel And
Tucson has solved the problem of motor service: the
traveler who does not have his own ear may either hire
one by the day or week, with or without a <1 river* or
buy one from a local dealer with the undo mtanding that
it will be bought back again at a tipuiat*d price
within a specified time- There is alao excellent taxi
service.

Except on the regular and familiar highway* it is un-
wise to undertake desert motoring without an e %p$ri~
enced driver experienced, that i, both in db$*trt driv-
ing and in actual knowledge of the roadii* Thtt stranger
who triei to drive himitelf will encounter long utrttchei
of unfamiliar road, with frequent er0irondi that lead
eventually only to some cattle ranch where nothing but
Spanish in n>oken and he will with heartily lor tome
native Arisott* assistant* For puMie Mghwayi ia An-

10

Old Tucson, Threshold of Arizona

zona are different, as the Easterner soon learns. There
is a fine road, for instance, running southwest from
Tucson for seventy-five miles to the little customs town
of Sasabe on the Mexican border and skirting the base
of the picturesque Babo Quiviri mountains ; it passes
through a privately owned cattle ranch covering 300,-
000 acres. One might motor the entire seventy-five miles
without seeing a soul and lose one's way in the bargain.
The desert is no place to get lost in, especially if water
runs short or the motor breaks down ; though it is also
true that, once its lessons are learned, it is a wonderful
place for motoring.

The first time I landed in Tucson, some years ago, I
ran into my old friend John Wetherill on the street. He
had motored down from Kayenta over the Apache Trail,
had finished his business, and was about to start for
home. Learning that I was contemplating a desert trip,
he planned for me the one that follows. I doubt whether
there is in all Arizona or northern Mexico a desert trail
or a motor road that this old pioneer does not know.
Both of us took with us our camping outfits, for Wether-
ill would rather stretch his lea^t, muscular frame on the
sand than "bed down" m the finest hotel ever built*
We started out in his car, bound for Puerto Libertad on
the California*! Gulf, to retrace in the opposite direc-
tion the trail that Padre Kino had taken two centuries
and a half ago, a straightaway of two hundred and fifty
miles through the Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico;
and we returned by way of the historic town of Tomb-
stone, the Wonderland of Rocks in the Chiricahua
Mountains, and the transcontinental motor highway,

11

Trails Through the Golden West

passing through those husky little Southern Pacific min-
ing towns in the Dragoon Mountains Willcox, Cochisc,
Dragoon, and Benson; and thus back to Tucson* Dur-
ing the leisurely two weeks that we took to cover nearly a
thousand miles we slept in hotel beds just two nights.
We might, of course, have gone to hotels much of tenor
than that, but this was not what we wanted ; we minned
no opportunity to throw our sleeping-bags down on the ,
warm, clean sand of the desert and count the stars in
Orion before going to sleep. And it should be men- '
tioned that in the crystal-clear atmosphere of the <
desert twice as many stars are visible a,$ can be iteen
from any point eant of the Rockies,. We had n full moon*
too a typical desert moon, of so deep and rich an
orange color as hardly to be identified with the moon
whose gentle silvery radiance llghti the evenings of the
Easterner.

The Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico

A MORE auspicious time to set off on a motor trip
/"\ could hardly be imagined than the lovely morn-
iftg in mid- April on which Wetherill and I left Tucson
for Nogales on the Mexican border* The road was fine
f\ shaded much of the way, with those frequent "dips"
for carrying off the flood of heavy storm or cloudburst
that give the effect of an endless roller-coaster. Birds
were singing, and the blossoms on every tree and bush
the air with fragrance. All along the road were
0\little ranches bounded by Nopal cactus hedges ten
h feet high. It was good to be alive,

About fifty miles along the seventy-mile run to
Nogales a white dome, some hundred yards to the left
of the highway, showed us that we had reached one of
the noblest ruined missions in either Arizona or Mexico :
Jos6 de Tumacacori, another example of Padre
vEusebio Kino's superb technique and unflagging aseal
**f or his ChurcL Its architecture is so different, however,
** rom that of San Xavier del Bac that one would scarcely
ve it had been designed by the same hand* Built in
1691, old Tumacaeori passed through the same vicissi-

18

Trails Through the Golden West

tudes that overtook all the Spanish missions of that
early day : the abolition of the Jesuits by the Spanish
Crown and the advent of the Franciscans, the attack
by bloodthirsty Apaches and the dispersal of the priests
with their humble Papago charges, It lay in dire ruin
until it was discovered by Americans in 1 850* From that
time onward some care was ben towed on it, and finally
in 1908 it was made a National Monument, Fortu-
nately there has never been any attempt at complete res-
toration* and it stands there today, in somber dignity*
with just enough renewal of its crumbling architecture
to preserve the beauty of the original design. At Mtatcnl
times during the year a Franciscan priest tomew to cele-
brate mass for the benefit of the Papagoi* In the* vicinity,
and thus the ancient shrine still functions, though its
glory has departed.

Reaching Nogales in mid-aftcrnocm f w<? spent tht* rct
of the day in arranging for our paBUport* with tin* CUM-
tarns official^ and finished with an excellent dinner In a
restaurant over the border. Thin restaurant wai <mco
the calaboose of Mexican Nogaie* arid consisted of two
or three dungeoni hewed out of the rocky mountainside.
Today, with its attractive Mexican decorations* ciec-
trie %ht% good dracing^floor* and native ntu*idtftnii
it constitutes a popular oanii for tht Tucson folk and
for the occasional visitor. It provides a choio* nelection
of aguardieBtfj meicali and tequila, nt wall m Amtrionn
drinkin nor will the visitor neglect the excellent beer
from the great Mexican brtifery at HtrmoMillci the
of which all Mtxtoo is to proud* But d0 not try f
you start back aaroti th b0rdr s to pky
H

The Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico

gler either internally or externally. On your ride down
from Tucson you may have noticed the many pictur-
esque turns taken by the road; sometimes, when you
go back, these turns seem to have doubled in number,
and there have been altpgether too many bad accidents
on that road on Saturday nights for you a visitor
to take any chances.

As I have already intimated, water is an essential in
desert travel* John WetherilPs 25-gallon keg will
always be found, full, in the tonneau or securely lashed
on the running-board. Its contents serve for drinking,
cooking, bathing, and cooling the overheated motor.
Indeed, you will never dream how many uses water has
until you find yourself caught short some warm morn-
ing. And it is to be remembered that not all the wells on
the Mexican desert ranches are so pure as might be
desired. So in order to be safe we put in a couple of
cases of the Hermosillo cerwsa* kept delightfully cool
(as any liquid will be in the desert) by being snugly
wrapped in a blanket* To my sorrow, it occurred to
mc> after we had started, that John is pretty nearly a
total abstainer at any rate, I have never known him
to take anything but water while he is driving a car
in the desert; and so I had to drink all the cenesa*

Shortly after leaving Nogales we passed through
a series of small desert towns with such musical names as
Torcuato, Planchas de Plata, Ra&cho Arizona, Aqul-
murij Sane, La Reforma, Tubutama (where may be
seen another of Padre Kino*s picturesque missions, San
Ignacion, built in 1602 and still in use), Atil, and
Oquitoa ; aixd eventually reached Altar in mid-afternoon,

15

Trails Through the Golden West

after a leisurely run of ninety miles. Here we found
a flourishing general store and a good gasoline station.
We had decided to wait to buy our grub until we reached
this point, so as to avoid paying duty at Nogales. We
also laid in plenty of gasoline and oil, and refilled our
keg with fresh water from the never-failing well which
is the town's greatest asset. But instead of putting up
at Altar's one little hotel, we drove out of town and
settled down on the sand for our first night of camping
on the desert. We were protected from the wind by a
patch of creosote or "greasebush" growing beside the
bed of a dry stream, so-called because it is very inflam-
mable and is thus useful in starting a campfire. As
usual in the desert the temperature dropped rapidly
between midnight and morning. When I got up to slip on
an extra sweater John was nowhere to be seen he had
pulled his blankets over his head and buried himself.
The desert wind has a note all its own, a moan which on
that night suggested that a storm might be rising ; but it
was a false alarm we had perfect weather then and
throughout the trip.

All the way from Tucson the giant, cactus or Sa-
guaro is in evidence. Not, however, until one reaches the
vast expanses of desert south of Altar is it seen at its
maximum size and growing in forests, The plant reaches
forty or fifty feet in height, two to four feet in diameter,
and six to eight tons in weight. It is the most curious
vegetable growth in the Southwest and Mexico. During
the first eight or ten years of its life it attains a height
of less than three feet ; by the time it is thirty years old
its height has increased to four feet, and after that it

16

The Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico

averages an annual growth of four inches, its lifetime
being from 150 to 200 years. Most remarkable of all
its characteristics is its water-content 97^4 percent,
in spite of the fact that there is no water for hundreds
of miles around it and that it has no tap-root at all. Its
tremendous bulk is anchored lightly in the sandy soil, its
roots lying only a few inches under the surface and
spreading laterally from six to ten feet. The trunk,
rising straight and graceful as a Doric column, is
marked by vertical lines of sharp spines extending up
and down its entire length, and these spines run also
along the branches. The latter number from two to fifty
and look like huge tridents, or monster candelabra;
there are curious malformations to ,be seen frequently,
as when the branches turn downward and curve around
,the trunk, sometimes reaching to the ground, where they
take root and start a brand-new growth upward, a few
feet from the parent stem. And all of this is green,
trunk and branches alike, except for the flowers. In the
spring the Saguaro bears a waxy white flower with a
pale yellow center; it grows on the extreme end of the
branch, very close to the skin and without any stem.
The odor of this exquisite bloom is almost cloyingly
sweet. Small wonder that Arizona has adopted it as the
State flower. The tree bears also a pear-like fruit which,
when ripe, is a favorite food of the Papago Indians.
They are very skillful at stripping off the spines, so as
to make the fruit eatable.

When we reached the lush orange groves of Pitiquito
we loaded up with a quantity of oranges to go with our
native luncheon, and then started on the remaining

17

Trails Through the Golden West
miles of our journey to the sea. From here on, the
desert is an almost impenetrable mass of cactus, in every
known variety. There is the Nopal or flat cactus, green
and pink, deepening to a rich purple at maturity ; this
bears the well-known prickly pear, as well as gorgeous
flowers, bright red, with their edges tinted yellow. The
masses of these flowers suggest gay flower-beds, from a
few feet square to a quarter-acre in size. It is on this
cactus that the minute and brilliant red insect, the
cochineal, flourishes ; the gathering of these insects, for
dyeing purposes, is one of the oldest industries in the

world.

The Visnaga or barrel cactus is known also as the
candy cactus. It contains a sweetish water which the
traveler can extract in sufficient quantities to drink;
candy also is made from this juice. The flower is deep
red at the base, fading to pinkish white at the edges ;
the mass of yellow blossoms in the center develops into
a yellow, banana-like fruit with brown tufts at the
en( j this also is a favorite among the Indians.

Sinita is the crested cereus or "gun swab," springing
from the ground in an upward-curving and outspread-
ing fashion. From twenty-five to fifty heavily ribbed
branches are found in a clump, and the height is three to
twenty-five feet. The exquisite flowers open at six o'clock
at night, are full-blown at nine, and are closed by morn-
ing. Pitalla, a near relative of Sinita, has rounder
branches and more ribs. It resembles the pipes of an
organ and is commonly known as the organ cactus.

Idria, found in the vicinity of Libertad, is one of
the oddest of them all : a tall, tapering, spindly growth,

18

The Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico

buff in color and seamed like a carrot, covered with
short, bushy limbs and dense leaf formation. The center
is filled with pith, and the trunk divides at the top into
two vertical branches, like a fantastic tuning-fork. A
veritable "what-is-it?"

Sowesa is the grandfather of the cactus family, a
night-blooming cereus though one would hardly be-
lieve it to look at this huge pachyderm, taller and larger
in every way than the Saguaro though not so sym-
metrical. This monster its height is fifty to sixty feet
has a pinkish brown, woody trunk from four to six
feet in diameter; and its bright green, vertical branches
(ten to fifty) are popular with the fish-hawks of the
Gulf, which nest in them year after year.

Both the Saguaro and the Sowesa are much used by
the barred woodpecker for nesting. Though this bird
constructs the same kind of nest as his eastern cousin,
the flicker or golden-winged woodpecker, he faces a more
complicated domestic problem. When the barred wood-
pecker drills his hole in a cactus branch and excavates it
for several inches below, he releases a flow of the sap
that practically inundates his prospective home, and
then he has to wait until this sap coagulates and
hardens. But the result is that he owns a permanently
weather-proofed house, and that he returns to it every
year with iis mate the same mate while the young
birds each season drill holes elsewhere for their nests.
This explains why practically every Saguaro and
Sowesa has from three to a dozen holes drilled in its
branches, exactly like the holes made in dead treef by
the eastern woodpecker. Here, too, lives the cactus wren,

19

Trails Through the Golden West

whose nest is like the oriole's, with a tunneled entrance
six to ten inches long, made of gra^s his defense
against attack from owls, hawks, and other predatory
enemies. To find thus, in the same cactus, several in-
'ternal drilled holes and as many tunneled ones on the
outside, all inhabited by birds, is one of the interesting
experiences that reward the visitor in this desert-land.
If he makes his trip in the spring he will be doubly re-
warded by hearing the haunting music of the cactus
wren's song.

Besides the huge tree cacti there is a wide variety of
smaller growths smaller and more sinister fairly
smothering the desert. The Ocotillo has long, sprawling,
bush-like branches that spring from its root and are
covered with tough spines. The gorgeous flower is bright
red and drooping, like a suspended spear-head. A deadly
cactus to encounter unawares is the Cholla purple,
green, or silver whose fiendish thorns, barbed and
needle-pointed, are so tough that they will pierce heavy
shoe leather. Its red, yellow, or purple fruit hangs tempt-
ingly in luscious, grape-like clusters, but beware of it
leave it for the deer, antelope, and hardy Indian cattle,
for which it is prime fodder, spines and all, and drink
as well. Add to all these cacti the mesquite and the iron-
wood trees, and the delicately beautiful and wide-spread-
ing Palo Verde (green pole), which attains the age
of two to three hundred years and in the spring bursts
forth into a golden glow of flowers and you have the
oddest-looking desert imaginable, with little resemblance
to the Sahara type that the word "desert" commonly
suggests. It is almost a jungle rather than a desert, this

20

The old mission of San Xavier, not far from Tucson, Arizona, is on|
.of .Spain's finest architectural achievements in the Southwest.

The Giant Cactus Forests of Mexico

nearly impenetrable mass of growth that stretches for
hundreds of square miles. The way taken by Padre Kino
when two hundred and fifty years ago he succeeded in
breaking through that formidable barrier is shown in the
serpentine trail that he followed, doubtless along the line
of least resistance, until the thorny growth began to thin
out a little and he could take a straighter course.

It is an eerie experience to camp among the Saguaro
and the Sowesa while the moon is full. You drive along
the trail until a spot is found that is large enough to
accommodate the car and a fire and a couple of sleeping-
bags. It is well to keep a sharp lookout for Cholla and
Ocotillo thorns, for they are expert at puncturing; if
you do any walking, watch your step. If, after you have
rolled into your bag and gone to sleep, you happen
to awake a few hours later, you will find it a memorable
experience to watch and hear Night in the desert. Huge,
ghostly shadows of cacti in a hundred forms surround
you in the moonlight. Not a movement of any kind any-
where. Not a sound. Even if the wind is blowing, still
these gigantic growths will be motionless there are
no leaves to flutter delicately in the desert. No animal
life, either, for the only denizens of the cactus forests
are deer and peccary, with (rarely) the cougar, and all
of these are more afraid of you than you are of them.
They will not come anywhere near a camp, day or night.
Nothing but shadows and moonlight, silence and still-
ness an( j y OU curl up in your sleeping-bag once more
with the reflection that such an experience is hardly
to be duplicated anywhere else on earth.

21

Tombstone Then and Now

T MAGINE a spring of absolutely pure water bubbling
* up from the sea beach, and accessible only at low
tide. This is one of the attractions of Port Libertad
its sole water supply, indeed. One wonders whether Padre
Kino discovered it. Anybody who needs fresh water at
this edge of the desert has simply to wait for ebb tide,
dig a hole in the sand, let it fill, and then ladle the water
into his pail. If he wants a bath he simply enlarges the
hole. The water is tepid, but becomes ice-cold if left
overnight, and it is purer and sweeter than any that
ever flowed from a municipal spigot.

Libertad today is a fishing station, furnishing all
the fish for Tucson and one or two other towns in the
vicinity. If you enjoy salt-water fishing you will no-
where find better than is afforded by the Gulf of Cali-
fornia. Take your fishing rod you can get boats and
men at Port Libertad. It may be mentioned in passing
that three miles farther south in the Gulf lies Tiburon
Island, the home of the Seri Indians, who have the lowest
mentality of any human beings in the world.

To me the most wonderful sight here at Libertad

22

Tombstone Then and Now

is the se tting of the sun. Something in the atmosphere
gives a pure lavender coloring to the sunset. I saw it
two evenings in succession. The best point from which
to get a {View is in the small range of foothills a couple
of miles clown the coast, where mountain peaks intervene
between the desert and the Gulf. When I saw it from
here, as he sun disappeared behind the range, the east-
ern horizon and the vast extent of desert in between
were fillejd with reflected light, which turned into a
bright, startling lavender, rolled over the landscape to-
ward me |ike a tidal wave of resistless color, and seemed
to stop almost at my feet. The light contained not the
slightest suggestion of any other hue in the spectrum
just that ^radiant projection of pure lavender that rose
and fell ^ike a filmy billow of resplendence. For a few
minutes ft remained unchanged; then darkness crept
over the scene. I have looked at sunsets in nearly every
part of tpe world, in the Orient and on the Seven Seas ;
but neveif before nor since have I seen such matchless
glory enfold the brooding earth as when that tremen-
dous flood of lavender swept over the endless green of
the Giant Cactus Forests deploying toward the Gulf.
On the north and south Libertad Is fenced in, as it
were, by gaunt and lofty mountains, deeply serrated and
ending at the sea beach. Between these runs a long,
curving shingle, forming, on the north, a peninsula
reaching out into deep water. At the extreme end of
this peninsula may be seen the grass-grown and sand-
drifted foundation of an ancient building, long since
gone to ruin, sai4 to be the remains of Padre Kino's
headquarters in the seventeenth century. It may well

23

Trails Through the Golden Wesf *

be so. Certainly no one else would have been ii ^erested
in building on that deserted and lonely spot.

After two days of high living on fresh fish, ! with sev-
eral plunges au naturel in what was the only s* alt water
nearer Tucson than the Pacific, we were readyf to start
back Another night of camping in the hea ^ of the
Cactus Forests, beneath a moon now a little *past full,

watched over once more by the towering sen
guaro, defined like silhouettes against a veh
Nearby an owl hooted the only sound that I

tinel Sa-
"ety sky,
iroke the

deep silence.

On the way back to Nogales we detoured th^ |igh the
ancient town of Caborca on the Altar River. TlM sleepy
old place, which has survived the flight of t\^ an d a
half centuries, is historically important for two reasons.
San Concepcion is here, another one of Padre Kino's
architecturally impressive missions, built in Jl 697 and
still in service; and here, in April, 1857, bloody ^massacre
overtook the notorious Crabbe filibustering expedition.
Those were the days, before the Civil War, when filibus-
tering was a popular sport. If the program wentj through
without a hitch and perhaps added some useful terri-
tory to the United States, then the filibusters Were pa-
triots. But if the plan failed, and somebody either faced
a firing squad or else got butchered in cold bl<>od, then
it was piracy, and the victims no matter how gallant
were left to their fate. And it was usually the latter that
happened to these buccaneers. Here is the story of the
Crabbe expedition.

Taking advantage of an impending revolution in the
State of Somora, Mexico, State Senator Henry A.

24

Tombstone Then and Now

Crabbe, a popular Southerner who had been drawn to
California by the Gold Rush, sailed out of San Fran-
cisco Bay in January, 1857, with a hundred rollicking
fellow-conspirators, bound for the Gulf of California,
whence they were to make their way overland to the
little town of Caborca. Here they were to be reinforced
by nine hundred other Americans, all intent on carv-
ing an empire out of Mexican territory by force of
arms. It was a heterogeneous gathering a former
United States Senator, several former members of State
legislatures, some ex-officers from the Army, a former
State Treasurer and Comptroller, and a number of
prominent professional men from California and Ari-
zona, all ready to win fortune and glory. The average
age of the members of the expedition was under twenty-
five.

But something went wrong with the reinforcements,
and when the San Francisco contingent reached Caborca
they were met by a company of Mexican soldiers who
had fortified Padre Kino's old mission and from it am-
bushed the Crabbe expedition. Every man was extermi-
nated ; no quarter was given. The soldiers then delicately
removed the head of the leader, Crabbe, and sent it to
Governor Ignacio Pesqueira as a souvenir a signifi-
cant gesture in view of the fact that the ostensible
purpose of the expedition had been to assist Governor
Pesqueira in putting down the revolution, and Crabbe
had been counting on him for co-operation in carrying
out its real purpose. This episode ended filibustering in
Mexico once and for all.

The story is told in eloquent Spanish on a large brass

25

Trails Through the Golden West

tablet mounted on the outer walls of the mission, close
by the entrance, where it may be seen by the devout as
long as the mission shall stand. It ascribes endless
thanksgiving and honor to Almighty God, in whose name
the ambush was made and whose assistance is acknowl-
edged. But unless something is done to the building
in the way of repairs, the memorial will not last so long
as the devout hope; for the Altar, like most Mexican
rivers, has been eating its way insidiously into the
bank on which the old pile stands and has undermined
one corner, and it is only a question of time when the
ancient structure will tumble into the river. San Con-
cepcion will repay the trouble of a visit. So will San
Ignacion at Tubutama, built by Padre Kino in 1692.
Both of these missions lie on the padre's trail and
so can be seen in a short time. In each case it will be
found worth while to climb up into the belfry.

Running seventy-two miles due north from the Mexi-
can border-city of Nogales, up hill and down dale, is one
of the finest desert roads in all Arizona, the highway to
that picturesque old mining town of trouble and tragedy,
lying at the foot of the Dragoon Mountains Tomb-
stone. The road winds through the ancient oaks of the
Coronado National Forest and past a number of "dude
ranches" (elegantly known as "guest houses"), where
Easterners may live at a rate that suggests a city hotel
but in vastly different and more delightful surroundings.
We mount the crests of rolling hills, around us oc-
casional patches of Saguaro, barrel cactus, and high-
reaching maguey plant with its bamboo-like stalk and
its cream-white flowers, from which Mexicans have

26

Tombstone Then and ISTow

made their tequila from time immemorial. We breathe
the purest and driest air that ever brought an invalid
back from the shadows, and every moment brings us an
invitation to loaf and invite our souls. This is the land
where once on a time the only trail lay through the
dreadful haunts of the Apache, and any traveler who
loafed and invited his soul did it at the risk of losing
his scalp. Fortunately that day is now long past, though
just as fortunately much of its original atmosphere
remains for the enjoyment of the few who know any-
thing about it.

In the early eighties Tombstone was the only flour-
ishing town in Arizona "not a bad town' 5 at all, the
residents were continually having to explain; on the
contrary, "a nice, quiet, clean town." As they put it
to you, it would be strange if, with a population of
6500, most of them engaged in mining, a few lawless
characters didn't now and then drift in. ... An often-
quoted editorial in the Tombstone Nugget called atten-
tion to the improved conditions that a newly elected
sheriff had brought about, citing the fact that there
had been "but one killing, one stabbing affray, one
stage robbery, and one Apache outrage" since the date
of the previous issue. To illustrate the conditions that
prevailed in the old days, here is the story of the killing
of Billy Claibourne by Frank Leslie, known as "Buck-
skin Frank."

Leslie was a bar-tender in the Oriental Cafe. Billy
came in, a trifle the worse for wear and inclined to be
offensive. He was thrown out. He got peevish and pro-
ceeded to arm himself with a sawed-off shotgun. Then,

27

Trails Through the Golden West

concealed behind a fruit-stand adjoining the cafe, he
waited for Leslie to come out. Someone told Leslie
"Buckskin Frank" about the surprise party that was
waiting for him outside the door. He laid on the bar
the cigar he was smoking, took out his .45, and, step-
ping out of the side door, walked softly down the alley
toward the street. Spotting his man he quietly called
out, "Billy!" Clairbourne turned, and a split second
later was drilled neatly through the heart and crumpled
up under the fruit-stand. Leslie returned to his bar,
picking up the cigar, which was still smoking, and re-
marked nonchalantly : "He died nice." Self-defense was
Leslie's plea before the jury, and it goes without say-
ing that he was acquitted. Little incidents like that were
all in the day's work in Tombstone, though it should be
added that a woman was just as safe on the streets of
the old town as if she were in her home, and it was seldom
that a man who attended to his own business got into
trouble. The outstanding exception was the death of
M. R. Peel, a quiet, inoffensive, and highly esteemed
employee in the offices of the Tombstone Mining Com-
pany. He was shot by a couple of bad men who were
intent on burglary. They were both found guilty and
condemned to be hanged. The last words of the man
who did the shooting were to the effect he "must have
been a bit nervous," because he had had no intention of
shooting Peel and was sorry the accident had occurred.
Curiously enough, Peel, a worthy citizen, was buried in
Boot Hill, the outlaws' cemetery on the desert edge,
just outside the town, where the remains of those who
had died with their boots on were deposited, rather than

28

Tombstone Then and Now

in the Episcopal graveyard. Incidentally, PeePs grave
is the only one with a monument, in that deserted and
tragic spot. Oblivion has overtaken the names and the
deeds of the men buried here even the dates ; and the
flying years have nearly reduced those pathetic, un-
marked mounds to the level of the desert which will
eventually hide them from sight. Every wild western
town had its Boot Hill in those days of "high, wide
and handsome" riding when the .45 spoke first and ex-
planations, if any, came only afterward. But if the truth
were known, Tombstone's necrology would divulge a
royal list of bad-men that would defy all competitors.
It was Tombstone's Boot Hill that inspired the fol-
lowing verses by Sharlot M. Hall, Arizona's well-known
and beloved poet :

BOOT HILL

Go softly, you whose careless feet

Would crush the sage-brush, pungent, sweet,

And brush the rabbit-weed aside

From burrows where ike ground-squirrels hide,

And prairie dog his watch-tower keeps

Among the ragged gravel heaps.

Year long the wind- blows up and down

Each lessening mound, and drifts the brown,

Dried wander-weed tJiere at their feet

Who no more wander, slow or fleet.

Sun-bleached, rain-warped, the head-boards hold

One story, all too quickly told:

That here some wild heart takes its rest

From spent desire and fruitless quest.

Here in the grease-wood 9 s scanty shade
How many a daring soul was laid!

29

Trails Through the Golden West

Boots on, full-garbed as when Jie died;
Tlie "pistol belted at Ms side;
The worn sombrero on Ills breast
To prove another man the best.
Arrow or knife or quick-drawn gun
The glad, mad, fearless game was done;
A life for stakes play slow or fast
Win lose yet Death was trumps at last.

Some went where bar-room tinsel flared,
Or painted, dance-hall wantons stared;
Some, where the lone, brown ranges bared
Their parched length to a parching sky
And God alone might hear the cry
From thirst-dried lips that stiff and cold
Seemed still to babble: "Gold! Gold! Gold!"
Woman or wine or greed or chance
A comrade 9 s shot, an Indian lance;
By camp or canyon, trail or street
Here all games end; here all trails- meet.

The ground-squirrels chatter in the sun;
The dry, gray sage-leaves, one by one,
Drift down, close-curled in odorous heaps;
Above, wide-winged, a wild hawk sweeps;
And on the worn board at the head
Of one whose name was fear and dread,
A little, solemn ground-owl sits.
Ah, here the man and life are quits!
Go softly, nor with careless feet
Here all games end; here all trails meet.

At the entrance to the town, on the main highway,
will be seen a rough stone monument to Ed Schieffelin,
the U. S. Army scout who gave up his job to go pros-
pecting, and who located^he celebrated silver mine which
he dubbed "Tombstone'* "and from which the town took

* 30

Tombstone Then and Now

its name. About a year after he left the Army, his old
chief , Al Sieber, came upon him sitting beside a pile of
rock with his rifle across his knees, and the following
conversation took place:

"Whatcha doin>, Ed?" queried Sieber.

"Prospectin*, mostly, 55 drawled Schieffelin.

Whar?"

"Over yonder* 5 and Ed waved his arm toward the
Dragoon Mountains.

"All you'll ever find in them hills will be yer tomb-
stone," warned the scout. "Old Geronimo will git ye if
ye don't watch out, an' leave yer bones for the buzzards
to pick."

"I'll take a chance," was the laconic reply.

Untold millions of dollars' worth of silver were taken
out of that mine. The rest is history. Today, in the main
street, the traveler will be shown the original diggings,
as well as the stope or ore stairway, of an almost equally
productive mine, out of which ore was brought from
below, and around which the town grew up.

The old Oriental Cafe is still doing business, but
with soft drinks. The famous Bird Cage Theater, in
which Eddie Fby was a prime favorite in the old days, is
still there, likewise the notorious Can Can Cafe and
gambling house. The Tombstone Epitaph, a weekly
paper that flourished in those halcyon days, is still pub-
lished, across the street from the corral where the fa-
mous (and infamous) Earp-Clanton-McLowery feud
was fought to a finish, the echoes of which may still be
heard throughout the Southwest. Yes twenty-four
hours can be profitably spent iir Tombstone, even though
today it is as silent as its name would imply.

31

Trails Through the Golden West

A brief run from Tombstone across the desert about
fifty-five miles over another excellent road brings the
pilgrim to the Wonderland of Rocks in the Chiricahua
Mountains. This area is so important in its curious and
wonderful scenery that the Government has set it aside
as a National Monument. It is the one spot in the South-
west where Nature has played the caricaturist no-
where else will we see such fantastic effects of erosion.
It looks like a Witches' Sabbath; the shapes and sil-
houettes are really astounding. Balanced rocks, slides,
caves, underground passages these, on the one hand.
On the other, veritable caricatures of birds, animals
and men no familiar living thing is spared. At every
turn we are met by outlandish faces and figures. Dwarfs
and crookbacks, hobgoblins and nightmares, all these
are impishly hewn out of the rock, by the action of the
elements. And fortunately this Wonderland of Rocks is
far enough from the usual paths of sightseers to be
free from most of the well-known pests of travel.

You will be housed at Far-away Ranch, a lovely spot
at the entrance to the valley, presided over by an elderly
woman and her son, the latter acting as custodian. En-
tertainment and saddle-horses may be had at reasonable
cost, and after a night's rest you may start off on your
horse for the easy climb up a mountain trail shaded
by lofty conifers. In the old days the Apaches had a
stronghold here, and the trail was the one used by those
redoubtable warriors long before the white man came
upon the scene. On reaching the summit it is an easy
climb you will sit down in a spacious amphitheater
with your field-glasses and imagine yourself at one of

32

Tombstone Then and Now

those old-time cycloramas that were so popular in the
days of our youth. You will see Nature burlesqued,
travestied, and parodied in uniquely ludicrous fashion.
And then finally your guide will point out an amazing
silhouette of startling clarity formed by the peaks of the
Chiricahua Range. It appears as the recumbent figure
of an Indian and is called Cochise Head, after the
famous Apache Chief of that name. In comparison with
the farcical display that you have been looking at, this
massive, august creation will leave an impression of dig-
nity and nobility that will remain in your memory for
many a day.

These are some of the high spots that are not to be
come upon by following the beaten track. By all means,
visit the Wonderland of Rocks. A letter addressed to
Far-away Ranch, Dos Cabezas, Arizona, will bring a
motor to the little mining town of that name, fifteen
miles from Willcox, on the Southern Pacific, just ninety
miles east of Tucson ; and you can return to that town
or to Tombstone, as you prefer. From Tombstone you
can reach the Southern Pacific at the main line station
Benson, in the midst of the desert. Or you may do as
WetherlQ and I did: start from Tucson for the Giant
Cactus Forests in Mexico and return via Far-away
Ranch to the little town of Willcox for the night, a ride
of thirty-six miles; thence by motor the next day
through Cochise and the picturesque Dragoons to
Tucson a lovely finale, with some remarkable mirages
en route. You won't miss them. They'll find you. Rewards
await him who travels hopefully with an elastic
schedule.

33

Rainbow Bridge The Discovery

AINBOW-TURNED-TO-STONE 55 this was
the name given by the Navajo Indians, centuries
before Rainbow Bridge was known to the white man,
to this marvelous example of the effect of natural
erosion. It lies hidden away in the depths of a great
gorge tributary to the Grand Canyon of the Colorado,
at the heart of the desert region of northern Arizona
and southern Utah. This natural bridge of stone is not
only exquisitely proportioned for all its stupendous
size but its coloring is to be conceived only if we sum-
mon the rainbow as comparison.

If the place were accessible by railroad, its musical
Navajo name, Non-ne-zo-she Na-gee-lid, would be on the
tongue of every traveler through our Southwest. But
since the only way to reach it is by pack-train over a
rough and arid country, it has been seen only by
approximately a thousand white men since its discovery
a little more than twenty years ago. And the wilder-
ness-lover whose pleasure is but heightened by the diffi-
culties of the journey will ever be grateful that Nature
has put so arduous a barrier across the path.

34

Rainbow Bridge The Discovery

The discovery of such marvels in out-of-the-way
places is generally a matter of accident or curious cir-
cumstance. In this case the thrilling revelation is in-
timately intertwined with the life of that veteran pioneer,
John Wetherill ; to tell of one is to tell of the other. Long
before any other white man had even heard of Rain-
bow Bridge, old John knew of its existence and jeal-
ously hugged the secret to his breast along with the
hope that he might be the first white man to see it
and make it known to the rest of the world. To a certain
extent his dream came true: though he was not alone
in his first sight of it, he led the expedition that dis-
covered it, and was himself the first white man to pass
under its arch.

It is now nearly forty years since John Wetherill, a
lean young plainsman of twenty-odd years, emigrated
from Colorado with his young wife and his brother and,
trekking across the Painted Desert, founded the little
settlement of Kayenta, Arizona, on what is today the
Navajo Indian Reservation. Here for many years he
has conducted a trading-post. In those times the Indian
resented the coming of the white man, and the Navajos
made their resentment clear in this case by murdering
WetherilPs brother. But young John and his wife were
not to be daunted by the horrible act ; without any at-
tempt at reprisal they refused to be driven away. He
told the Navajos that he was there to stay, and that his
intentions were friendly. The latter was confirmed by
what his wife did. Like all pioneer mothers of that day,
Mrs. Wetherill had to serve both as nurse and as family
doctor on many occasions, and she soon had a wide repu-

35

Trails Through the Golden West

tation among the Indians, which was enhanced by her
rapid acquirement of the Navajo language and its
various dialects. Wherever there was sickness, the
healing services of the "Medicine Woman" were sought,
with the result that eventually Mrs. Wetherill was
formally adopted into the tribe, in which for many years
now she has been the object of devoted veneration. In-
cidentally, the Indians learned that John Wetherill al-
ways spoke to them with "a straight tongue," even when
the natives themselves deliberately took the opposite
course.

Complete confidence having been established between
the Wetherills and the Navajos, one day early in the
spring of 1907 Usen Bena Etten, a tribesman bearing
the nickname of "Sharkie," the survival of whose squaw
and new-born papoose was due to the ministrations of
Mrs. Wetherill, took John for a long walk away from
the village into the desert, where he unfolded to him
a deep secret. It was all about a wonderful bridge of red
rock, shaped like a rainbow, hidden in a deep canyon,
away off in the country to the northwest, where the
tribal gods of the Navajos had dwelt for countless gen-
erations. It had never been seen by a white man, and by
only a few Indians, who had stumbled on it inadvertently
and got away as quickly as possible because it was a
very holy spot.

He told John of an altar that had been built beneath
the great arch by the Navajos' ancestors, which was so
ancient as to be beyond the memory of the oldest men ;
the medicine men of earlier days had made pilgrimages
to this place and offered prayers to the Great Spirit on

36

The Kainbow Natural Bridge, with a span of 274
feet almost equal to a city block has the biggest
natural arch in the world. It is composed solely of
naked red sandstone of various shades.

Rainbow Bridge The Discovery

behalf of the tribe. Then he took a twig, bent it in the
form of an arch, and, sticking 1 the ends in the ground,
made a sweeping gesture with his arm to indicate its im-
mensity. No he had never been there himself and he
wasn't supposed to know or to have ever heard anything
about it. That would come later on, when he should be
old enough to take his place among the wise ones of
the tribe and possibly make a pilgrimage.

-Yes there was a trail to the holy place, but it was
hidden and the way was dangerous to those whose ap-
proach was other than reverent. The anger of the Great
Spirit was something that no Navajo would dare in-
vite. Sharkie had noted WetherilPs interest in excava-
tion and in the discovery of prehistoric occupation, so
he wanted his great and good friend to know about the
'Tiainbow-turned-to-stone.'* That was as far as the
matter went at this time.

But Wetherill, sensing a find, brought all his persua-
siveness to bear on Sharkie, begging to be taken to the
spot; but Sharkie was not to be moved his supersti-
tion held fast. He would take no chance of angering the
gods by such profanation, even if he should be able to
find the way, which was far from certain. Months passed,
during which Wetherill persisted in the pressure with
the hope of breaking down Sharkie's fears. Meantime
he had to keep Sharkie's secret ; he did not dare to seek
a guide from among the other tribesmen he couldn't
even hint that he had even heard of the great arch.
He had simply to possess his soul in patience, hoping
that the time might come when Sharkie's fears would
yield to reaso^.

37

Trails Through the Golden West

Plans were laid to make the attempt in the autumn
of the next year, 1908. But the sudden death of Sharkie
in the summer of 1907 defeated these. Before he. died,
however, he confided to Wetherill that a friendly Paiute,
Nasjah Begay by name, knew the trail to the Bridge
and had promised to carry out his (Sharkie's) intention.
Wetherill, who knew Nasjah Begay personally and
feared another set-back, urged a prompt start. It ap-
peared that Nasjah, being a Paiute, did not share the
superstition with which the Navajos regarded the great
arch. He was full of alarm, however, lest his Navajo
friends resent his activities with their old friend the
trader Wetherill.

Accordingly they planned a trip for the following
fall, ostensibly to Flagstaff for winter supplies. Wether-
ill in the meantime had cached a horse and two saddles
in Segi Canyon, on the trail to Flagstaff. This enabled
them to start light with only a team of horses and a
truck-wagon, thus avoiding the least suspicion of the
real object of the trip. When they reached the cache,
they concealed the wagon and the harness and, sad-
dling two horses, packed the third with their limited
supplies entirely too limited, in fact, for an expedi-
tion involving so much uncertainty and embarked on
their eventful quest.

About two-thirds of the distance into the Bridge
canyon Nasjah Begay lost the trail, and then spent a
week in a vain endeavor to recover it. Meanwhile the
pack-horse had slipped over a cliff and was badly in-
jured, and they had a hard job recovering the remainder
of the supplies, including horse-feed. Nobody who has

38

Rainbow Bridge The Discovery

not ridden through that tremendous hinterland can im-
agine its sinister character. The whole country, as far
as the eye can see, is gridironed with canyons from 500
to 2000 feet in depth, unscalable except in a few places
and then a dangerous job for even a venturesome and
seasoned explorer like Wetherill. There being absolutely
no forage and no water in that section, their situation
was indeed desperate. Nasjah Begay was terror-
stricken, convinced that they would never get home alive.
As for Wetherill, he was dismayed by the tragic outcome
of their venture, but he realized that there was noth-
ing to do but turn back. They had been gone for nearly
a month and by the time they reached home both the
men and the horses were completely played out.

Although it was to be long before Nasjah Begay re-
covered his accustomed stoicism, John's appetite for the
venture was but whetted by the first failure. In October,
1908, after months of silence, he again broached the
subject to Nasjah, but with no success Nasjah had
had his fill. To WetherilPs delight, however, Nasjah
knew a brother Paiute who claimed to have made the
trip to the great bridge and who he thought might under-
take the job.

It appears that this Paiute, "Mike's Boy" by name,
familiarly known as Jim, was working at the time as
flagman for William B. Douglass, Examiner of Surveys
for the General Land Office in Washington, then engaged
in surveying the three great natural bridges in White
Canyon. Nas j ah Begay disappeared for a few days, and,
returning, informed Wetherill that Jim had consented
to guide him in to the Bridge the following December.

39

Trails Through the Golden West

The expedition was to start from the trading post
at Oljeto, which Wetherill was conducting at the time.
John realized that his secret was out, however, when
word leaked through a few weeks later that Jim had
changed his mind and was going to guide Mr. Douglass
in to the Bridge. Incidentally, knowing the workings of
the Indian mind, he became properly suspicious when
Jim failed to put in an appearance at Oljeto the fol-
lowing December at the place where Douglass was wait-
ing for him. The trip was abandoned and Douglass re-
turned to White Canyon considerably chopf alien to find
flagman Jim blandly waiting for him but minus any ex-
planation as to why he had failed to show up at Oljeto.
Wetherill had his own theory as to Jim's dereliction and
was accordingly relieved that he had been spared the
embarrassment of placing himself in Jim's hands.

A highly interesting situation developed the following
year, 1909. The fame of Rainbow Bridge had spread far
and wide throughout the Southwest but nobody knew
where it was. Byron Cummings, Dean of the University
of Arizona, who was excavating prehistoric ruins in
the vicinity of Oljeto, wanted his old friend Wetherill
to organize an expedition and go in search of it. John
was more than willing but, having appealed in vain to
Nasjah Begay, was at his wits' end. Hearing that Doug-
lass had once more got Jim into line and was on his way
to Oljeto, Wetherill, who knew both men, brought them
together and induced them to combine their outfits. The
party left Oljeto on August 10th.

They had been on the trail only a few hours, how-
ever, when Wether ill's suspicions were confirmed ; it was

40

Rainbow Bridge The Discovery

quite apparent to him that Jim the flagman didn't know
where he was going. With considerable difficulty John
convinced Douglass of the fact, and the outfit halted
and made camp. John then retraced his steps to Oljeto
and sought out Nasjah Begay once more, with a last
heroic appeal to that reluctant Paiute who, it appeared,
was more gratified by seeing Jim go ahead and make a
fool of himself than he would have been by making a
bit of money.

It developed that Nasjah had been in to the Bridge
as recently as June of that year, but had kept this to
himself. His fears as to the possible resentment of his
Navajo brethren had dwindled to reasonable appre-
hensions about horses and supplies, and about the
chances of so large an expedition's getting in to the
Bridge, and if it did of getting back again. These
doubts having been cleared, Nasjah Begay returned to
the desert camp with John Wetherill and the expedition
resumed the trail, arriving at the great arch without
any mishap at 11 o'clock in the forenoon of August
14th, 1909. It is worthy of note that, while John was
the outfitter of the Dean Cummings party, with the
arrival of Nasjah Begay he assumed complete charge
of the expedition and was responsible for its safe con-
duct there and back.

No one in that party but Wetherill was qualified to
discover Paiute Jim's unfitness for the job for which
Mr. Douglass had hired him, and but for his altruistic
interference the expedition would have fizzled out as the
previous one had. That, however, did not deter Mr.
Douglass, in his official report to the Commissioner of

Trails Through the Golden West

the General Land Office, in Washington, in May, 1910,
from ascribing to Jim the credit for finding the trail to
the Bridge which, as a matter of fact, belonged to
Nasjah Begay who, as has already been stated, was
WetheruTs man. And it is owing entirely to Wetherill
that Nasjah eventually received the credit which was
his due, as may be seen today by the pilgrim on his
arrival at the great arch.

Countersunk in the rocky base of that magnificent fly-
ing buttress that spans the prehistoric stream-bed will
be found a massive bronze memorial, appropriately in-
scribed and showing (in half life-size) Nasjah Begay
astride his Indian cayuse, guiding his party to Non-
ne-zo-she Na-gee-lid on August 14, 1909. This bronze
was the gift of Raymond Armsby of Burlingame, Cali-
fornia, and despite its four-hundred-pound weight -
was brought by pack-train over the difficult trail from
Kayenta. Here, set up as a memorial to historical truth,
it may be seen by every visitor to the bridge as long a
the trail shall last.

Such was John WetherilPs characteristic method of
seeing to it that the right man should receive due credit
for an imperishable deed, whose ultimate result was the
setting aside of Rainbow Bridge for all time as one of
the most mysterious and impressive of our National
Monuments in the West.

To show just how John's dream came true I can do
no better than to quote a reminiscent passage from a
letter he wrote to me some years ago, a passage that be-
trays unconsciously both his charming naivete and the
fundamental principles that guide him :

42

Rainbow Bridge The Discovery

"On the morning of August 14th [he says] we broke
our last camp in the Bald Rocks Canyon and lined out
for the Bridge. Dean Cummings, Douglass, and myself
pushed ahead with Nasjah Begay in the lead. As we came
to the bend of the canyon about three-quarters of a
mile above the Bridge, Nasjah Begay said we would
see it shortly. Douglass was next to the guide, his eye
fixed on a branch canyon that led off to the right. Cum-
mings was riding behind Douglass and I was behind
him. I noted that he was keeping watch to the left,
from which direction the arch is first seen. He saw
it first and rode up beside Douglass and pointed it out
to him.

"Douglass didn't seem to appreciate Cummings* in-
terest. I told the dean that I would put him in ahead
of Douglass if he wished, but he said he didn't want to
appear rude. I thought it was just about up to someone
to 'appear rude 5 so I took it upon myself to ride
ahead of Douglass. I was the first white man to pass
under the bridge and was followed by Messrs. Douglass
and Cummings in the order named. But Dean Cummings
was the first white man to set eyes on it. There was plenty
of glory to go round, and I have always been content
with my little part. The real credit belongs to the Paiute
Nasjah Begay, without whose knowledge of the trail the
Bridge would probably not have been discovered for
some years to come."

Thus John Wetherill was virtually the discoverer of
Rainbow Bridge, and by all the rules of the game he
should have reaped the glory. That the only mention
of him found in Mr. Douglass's official report is as "a
packer'* in the employ of Dean Byron Cummings speaks
for itself. Like the unselfish pioneer that he is, old John
pocketed his disappointment and proceeded to clean

43

Trails Through the Golden West

up and improve the trail in to Rainbow Bridge, which
but for him would have remained hazardous and which
will be an enduring monument to his public-spirit edness
long after he has ^passed over the range."

But this is not all that John Wetherill did: he con-
ceived also the idea of constructing a trail in to the
Bridge around the base of Navajo Mountain, thus open-
ing up a vast area of wonderful country that would
otherwise be inaccessible, and transforming a one-way
journey into a round trip of amazing variety. This
required time and money, however, and the old adven-
turer had neither. But his indefatigable energy and the
likableness that persuades men are witnessed by the fact
that the wherewithal was provided by Charles L. Bern-
heimer of New York, who for years has spent his holi-
days with Wetherill in the Rainbow Bridge country.
One glorious holiday he devoted to blasting his way
with dynamite in Wetherill's company through the
canyons radiating from the base of Navajo Mountain
and in to the Bridge. That trail of theirs is the last
word in wonder; it might indeed be called the achieve-
ment of the impossible ; and as an appropriate introduc-
tion to Non-ne-zo-she itself, it is worthy of any super-
lative you choose to apply to it.

44

Rainbow Bridge The Country

Ti/T ILLIONS of years ago, so the geologists tell us,
ITA there was a sudden cooling-off process beneath
the surface of this great territory in Arizona and Utah
an area comprising some 100,000 square miles and
the surface caved in, ten thousand feet deep, and the
sea rushed in. A few million years later the reverse took
place : the earth's crust was forced upward slowly, and
the great inland sea was emptied into what is now the
Pacific Ocean. It left behind it a tremendous deposit of
silt, which eventually hardened into rock. Some geolo-
gists believe further that the Rainbow Bridge country
was subsequently covered with lava and that it was this
lava, with its greater resistance to the action of water
than the exposed sandstone of the Grand Canyon ter-
rain (of which it is a part), that left practicaUy undis-
turbed those countless roundheaded buttes which
remained while the Colorado River was cutting its way
to the sea. However that may be, it is true that the scen-
ery and surface conditions in the vicinity of Rainbow
Bridge are totally different from those in the Grand
Canyon.

Trails Through the Golden West

In the midst of a vast expanse of red, pink, and brown
desert that is slashed by innumerable canyons through
which age-long floods have worn their way to the Colo-
rado River, is Navajo Mountain. Its geographical posi-
tion is on the boundary line between Utah and Arizona,
a six-hour motor ride of 185 miles over the Painted
Desert from either Flagstaff or Grand Canyon Station
on the Santa Fe Railroad. Rising 10,500 feet above
sea-level it constitutes the landmark toward which all
trails lead. In formation it is nothing less than a huge
upthrust of limestone from the bowels of the earth in
the center of an ocean of pink sandstone. It is covered
remarkably enough with both deciduous trees and
flourishing pines, and blessed with a never-failing spring
of the purest water. And on its slopes may be seen an-
other reason for the superstitious attitude of the Indians
numerous ancient cliff-dwellings, which are believed
to be haunted by the spirits of their former occupants.

The possibility of travel by either pack-train or
motor-car in the Arizona desert depends almost wholly
on water. Any party of travelers that ventures into
that arid waste without knowing the location of the
few springs and water-holes is simply asking for trouble.
I was fortunate in having John Wetherill in command
when the quartet of which I was a member motored across
the Painted Desert a few years ago. The trip included
a three-day trek by pack-train over the precipitous
and uncertain trails of Segi, Paiute, and Nokai canyons,
halting on the southern slopes of Navajo Mountain.
The four of us were a& different as could be imagined, in
temperament, in experience, and in occupation, but for

46

Rainbow Bridge The Country

nearly fifteen years we had trailed together into the
wilderness without ever having had a serious disagree-
ment. This is worth emphasis, because if there is any
place on earth where a man's real character comes out
especially if he has a yellow streak it is the sort of
wild, out-of-the-way place typified by this desert region.
Camping on such trails is not only revelatory of hidden
traits it is rigid discipline for weaknesses. Self-con-
sciousness, for instance, or petty jealousies; if you
have to confess to either of these, just go out into
the wilderness, make friends with a pack-horse, lie down
under the open sky with your dog at your side, and take
in what the desert has to say to you. Cut some wood
for the cook, or keep his water-pail full. Whatever you
feel like doing, or have to do on a desert camping trip
will be good for your soul.

I have mentioned the cliff-dwellings on the southern
(or desert) slopes of Navajo Mountain, which make the
trail on this side doubly interesting. When your eyes
fall on these for the first time you find it hard to believe
that you are looking at places where men lived, in con-
siderable numbers, some three thousand years ago. One
spot in particular will attract your attention an eye-
shaped hole-in-the-wall about five hundred feet above
the floor of the canyon. Train your glasses on it and
you will see the laid-up stonework of the ancient dwell-
ings back in the shadows, protected by the overhanging
cliff. But you will hunt in vain today for the footpath
that must once have led up the precipitous mountain-
side, and you wonder whether at the time when these
dwellings were tenanted they really were so high up, or

47

Trails Through the Golden West

whether during the march of the centuries since then the
gorge itself has been hewn out deeper by the elements.

Three hours 5 climb in the blinding sunlight brought
our pack-train to the grateful and cooling shade of a
grove of towering pines, where the tired cayuses were
speedily unpacked and horse and man made a rush for
the ice-cold waters of "War-god 55 spring. The after-
noon passed in delicious languor. As evening ap-
proached, the sleeping-bags were brought out. No need
for tents in Arizona in the summer and fall; or for
lights, either, beyond the friendly flame of the campfire,
around which we all gathered with our pipes after an
early meal. A hundred yards from the camp there was
a massive, overhanging cliff with a flat top projecting
from the mountain-side a spacious pulpit, as it were,
overlooking the limitless amphitheater of sage-covered
desert 2000 feet below. The moon, nearly in the full,
was rising over the summit of the mountain at our
backs, shedding its soft light over the scene before day
had begun to fade. In the opposite direction the sun
was just touching the crest of the Vermilion Peaks at
whose base the turbulent and silt-laden Colorado roars
its way to the ocean. We left the campfire under the
pines in order to watch the inexpressible glories of a
desert sunset, and took our seats on that lofty rostrum
with the silence and circumspection that are seldom
violated by the wilderness-lover.

For a few moments the sage-bespangled immensity
of sand blazed with a golden glory, which gave way to
an all-pervasive mantle of the most brilliant hues of
lavender and mauve, shot through at the zenith with

48

Rainbow Bridge The Country

darting tongues of fire as the flaming orb dropped like
a plummet behind the range, leaving above it a vast fan-
shaped aureole of upward-shooting colors: old rose,
beaten gold, amber, and crimson slashes and after-
wards the most exquisite alpenglow imaginable.

As we watched this amazing display it seemed to us
that we could see the shadows below, closing in from
the south, the west, and the east, as well as from above
a peculiar sight that was made the more uncanny by
the wailing of the night wind of the desert, which seemed
to be forcing the last rays of light back through a vast
proscenium arch into outer darkness. <tf What is it? 5 * one
of us asked, turning to Wetherill. "It's a sand-storm,"
he replied, "and we are mighty lucky to be up here under
the protection of the trees instead of down there where
we would be compelled to bury our heads in our blankets
for the rest of the night/*

The wind moaned through the tree-tops all night long,
but this was a murmuring lullaby compared with the
fiendish blast that was piling up sand dunes on the
desert stretches around the base of the mountain. How
lucky we had been was indicated by the thin coating
of sand which we found on our sleeping-bags on awak-
ing next morning. Our elevation of 2000 feet and the
protection of the friendly pine tree$ had served us
well indeed.

If your party is overtaken by a sand-storm on the
desert, there is but one thing to do : unpack the horses,
build a corral out of the camp-equipment, sit down in the
lee of it and pull your blanket over your head. You may
as well resign yourself to a disagreeable and uncom-

49

Trails Through the Golden West

f ortable experience. You are going to have a visitation
of sand in every square inch of jour clothing, in your
hair, your ears, your eyes, and your nose not to men-
tion the fact that you cannot indulge in conversation
without getting sand in your mouth. The horses may be
depended upon not to leave camp. They turn their tails
to the wind and stand, heads down, dejected and forlorn-
looting. Their only comfort is the knowledge that they
are with human friends who are up against the same
trouble.

"There's a worth-while view off to the north, from
the summit of the mountain," said John Wetherill the
next morning. "Very few travelers take the trouble to
go up there because it's rough going and the thing
to do is to camp over night. There's no use in trying
it until this sandstorm settles down because that gen-
erally blots out the whole face of Nature. It is lessen-
ing now and will probably pass before the day is over.
We could travel all right, as it is, but we couldn't locate
anything, either high or low, in the way of scenery.
Shall we stay up here another day and spend the night
at the summit, or shall we go on? It's up to you." I have
never ceased to be thankful that we elected to stay.

Navajo Mountain is peculiar; on the south it abuts
on the sagebrush desert, and only on this side can it
be negotiated by pack-train; for the approaches from
east, west, and north are guarded by a series of steep
and practically inaccessible canyons a thousand to fif-
teen hundred feet deep. These gorges abound in quick-
sand and radiate from the base of the mountain, like
the spokes of a wheel, to the Colorado River fifteen miles

50

Rainbow Bridge The Country

distant. Ascending the rough trail from the camp at
War-god spring, the unsuspecting wayfarer, in the
wildest flight of imagination, would never dream of
the stupendous scene that awaits him at the summit.

Twenty-five hundred feet below, as far as the eye can
reach north, east, and west lies a rolling plateau of
bright pink sandstone, shimmering in the merciless rays
of an Arizona sun beating down from a barbaric blue
sky. But what are those black streaks crisscrossing the
pigmented void, as if a Titan had scratched the vast
expanse with a colossal pen? You raise your binoculars,
and what you took for a plateau resolves itself into
myriad round-topped mountains that resemble the rest-
less surge of a pink sea. Another look and the black
streaks are seen to be canyons.

Over there towards the east, you see where the San
Juan River has cut a monstrous gulch through the rock-
bound desert and joined her untamed sister, the Colo-
rado, on the way to the sea. Further on may be dimly
espied the Escalante and Henry mountain ranges, and
in between, an interminable labyrinth of gorges having
neither beginning nor end. It is a world turned topsy-
turvy, an epic of cosmic disorder waiting to be straight-
ened out.

One remarkable feature of this country is that,
though it is part of the same area of erosion that in-
cludes the Grand Canyon of the Colorado, and though
it lies a bare one hundred miles east of that tremendous
gorge, there is little or no resemblance between the
two beyond the fact that the Colorado has worn its
way through both formations in precisely the same

51

Trails Through the Golden West

fashion. Those who have visited the Grand Canyon
will recall the fantastic and jagged results of erosion
seen in the towering mountain peaks which rise six
thousand feet from the canyon's depths. There, the
river has cut its way a mile deep into the surface of
the earth and laid bare a cross-section 250 miles long
by 12 wide, extending from the red sandstone at the
top, down through the limestone, into the Archean
granite at the bottom the most ancient geological
formation known, antedating all animal life and go-
ing back into the misty past when this old earth was
in the making.

But here in the Rainbow Bridge terrain everything
mountains, buttes, cliffs, canyons is worn smooth.
There are fearsome precipices and terrific heights and
depths, but they all look as if they had been sand-
papered, stained, and finished by some mighty crafts-
man. It is this feature that has led to the belief that at
one time this whole vicinity must have been lava-
covered, and that thus the soft sandstone was protected
from the action of the elements until it became suffi-
ciently hardened to resist the erosion that is so marked
in the Grand Canyon. And this, notwithstanding that
there are no evidences of volcanic action in this portion
of Arizona and Utah.

52

Rainbow Bridge The Reality

NEXT morning bright and early we were on our
way with canteens filled from the limpid waters
of War-god spring, and with twelve miles of rough trails
and three canyons to negotiate before we could reach
our destination. Wetherill had arranged to have us
camp one night on the trail so that we might reach
the bridge in the late afternoon. An artist at heart,
the old pioneer had timed our approach to the great
arch for the hour when the shadows would be length-
ening. There need be no haste, and he particularly
wished that we should not be overtired or jaded from our
ride when we should have our first view. Indeed, John
Wetherill, in this matter, was like some ancient high
priest of the temple, parting the veil of the Tabernacle
in reverence; and it must be admitted that he imbued
each of us Nature-lovers already with the same feel-
ing toward his secret shrine.

The third and last canyon was the most difficult of all.
To reach it we had made a final climb of some fifteen
hundred feet a stiff rise, every man out of the saddle,
the weary horses struggling to make the grade. When

53

Trails Through the Golden West

we reached the summit we found it a fairly level divide
of rubble about thirty-five feet square, overlooking our
final descent into Bridge Canyon. There was just room
to accommodate our twenty animals if they stood still.
Exposed to the broiling sun we had found it a grueling
experience, and the whole outfit was about ready to
throw up its hands when John whose khaki shirt was
soaked with perspiration remarked casually: ''Well,
boys, this is the Saddle, We'll stop here long enough to
take a bite and let the cayuses get their wind."

We looked at each other blankly. "Stop here? 3 ' asked
one. c< Why, if one of those horses should turn, his head
he'd fafl over the cliff !"

John looked up with his quiet smile. "They all know
enough to stand still after a pull like that, and we'll
all feel better for a bit of grub and a breathing-spell."

So we all stood and looked off into infinite space,
munching sandwiches and getting back our wind.

It was fifteen hundred feet down to the floor of the
canyon from which we had just emerged, and five hun-
dred more than that down into the canyon where lay
the object of our strenuous pilgrimage, with an equally
stiff grade. But there's a difference between going up
and going down, somewhat in favor of the latter.

We came upon the tremendous arch late in the after-
noon, just as the westering sun was poised over the
massive pink mountain range that flanks it. Our saddle-
horses had been sent on ahead with the pack-train over
the trail on a rocky ledge a hundred and fifty feet above
the bottom of the gorge, while we finished on foot the
last few hundred yards of the day's journey, following

54

Rainbow Bridge The Reality

the serpentine, trickling stream that empties into the
Colorado River six miles farther oru There it stood in
its towering majesty: a "rainbow turned to stone" in
very truth*

Never in all my life have I seen anything so superb, so
overwhelming. Mere words could not describe it then
they cannot now. As this supernal beauty burst on
my sight, the resounding call of the Psalmist passed
through my thoughts:

Lift up your Jwads, ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye
everlasting doors!

And color 1 Color ! A dozen shades of red, pink, brown,
yellow, and mauve blending into each other, with an
exquisite rosiness of hue so inexpressibly soft and tender
as to exert a tremendous emotional appeal. It was sug-
gestive of the skin of a beautiful woman. One wanted to
smooth it, to lay his cheek against it. And it seemed to
reach upward to the very arch of heaven itself. And such
proportions ! "Graceful as a bow just bent." An epic
in sandstone!

With a perfection of symmetry it rises 310 feet from
the depths of the gorge, which it spans with a width
of 278 feet. The arch is thirty feet in diameter at the
top and approximately fifty feet at the base on one
side the other being part of the mountainous cliff
from which it springs, When you recall the Capitol at
Washington and realize that there is room and to spare
for it beneath that mighty span, you begin to form some
idea of its height. And when you stop to think that

55

Trails Through the Golden West

the length of an ordinary city block averages 240 feet,
it affords your imagination an additional basis for ex-
pansion. Nature has outdone herself in the gigantic
scale upon which she has fashioned this masterpiece.
Then think of the antiquity of this marvel and the al-
most unbelievable fact that there was a time when
Non-ne-zo-she Na-gee-lid and the mountain peaks sur-
rounding it were buried beneath the waves of a vast
inland sea. In considering the glacier-like progress of
erosion, one vainly tries to visualize the fact that the
prehistoric rocky river-bed beneath, now dry, was at
one time 150 feet higher than the present one and that
the original stream that raged through that canyon
centuries agone flowed around one end of that prodi-
gious flying buttress before the inexorable combination
of frost, wind, rain, sand and sun chiseled out the center
and wrought such an amazing transformation. No
wonder the ancient Indians invested it with supernatural
powers and built an altar beneath it where they might
propitiate their gods ! No wonder that even to this day
no Navajo will pass beneath the arch without uttering
a prayer !

Climbing the cliff on the northerly side of the canyon,
one may look down upon the Bridge, which looks dwarfed
by the tremendous proportions of its surroundings.
From those measureless upper reaches, one sees where
the ancient river has eaten its way into the sandstone
cliffs on either side, leaving a series of yawning caves
as a memorial of its swirling force.

It was the close of a day to be remembered for
a lifetime as we sat around the campfire that night

56

Rainbow Bridge The Reality

and watched the full moon rise over the crest of Navajo
Mountain, shedding a soft radiance over the scene and
etching the symmetrical outlines of the majestic arch
against the deep, velvety blue of an Arizona sky.

No visitor to this wonder-spot should fail to take the
six-mile walk down the Bridge Canyon to its junction
with the Colorado. Here is a gorge about 1000 feet deep,
a mere slit in the rock, so narrow in places that one can
almost touch both sides of it with outstretched arms.
Usually it is dark and gloomy, the sunlight coming in
only when the sun is immediately overhead. The stream
had dwindled to a mere trickle, but high above our
heads was a significant water-mark ; indicating at one
time a cloudburst had caused the Colorado River to rise
suddenly, and the waters had simultaneously inundated
the gorges on the slopes of Navajo Mountain. It was un-
canny to realize that we might have been caught by
such a flood like rats in a trap, and we were not a little
relieved when we returned to the friendly shadow of
the massive arch*

The interesting cliff-dwellings found in this region
make it a happy hunting-ground for the archeologist*
During the last few years John Wetherill in his wander-
ings has come upon scores of them. Three of the dwell-
ings are exceptionally fine, and in an excellent state of
preservation "Inscription House," "Betatakin," and
"Keet Seel" all of them on the line of approach from
Kayenta to the ^Bridge, and all worth visiting. The most
remarkable is Betatakin, situated in an immense natural
cave in the mountain-side, 600 feet high, 500 feet wide,
and 300 feet deep. It is so well preserved that it looks

67

Trails 'Through the Golden West

as though it had been tenanted quite recently. Three
thousand years ago this "city" must have contained
according to one estimate-no fewer than fifteen hun-
dred persons. The first tier cfB^uses, some hundred and
fifty feet above the valley, is rSched by a steep pathway
only wide enough for one person. Inside the cave, the
presence of two unfailing springs suggests one reason
why the place was chosen by its prehistoric inhabitants ;
a water supply that could be coifed on, together with
the character of the approach fflp the valley, made it
an excellent refuge easily defendem against the attacks
of hostile tribes.

That our journey homeward was uneventful does
not mean that it was tame. No ride that follows the
cliff trails in this region can be anything but nerve-test-
ing. They are not necessarily dangerous, for they gen-
erally trace the dry courses of prehistoric mountain
torrents and are well looked after; still, they are not to
be undertaken lightly. You will find comfort in the reali-
zation that your trail horse is just as much concerned
for his safety as you are for yours. Just give him his
head he won't take any chances of losing it.

On this return trail the high points of interest are
Monument Valley and the Bald Rocks. The first is
notable for its deeply eroded and fantastically carved
masses of sedimentary rock, resembling feudal castles,
700 to 1000 feet high above the floor of the desert,
which, it will be remembered, was once the bottom of
an inland sea with an estimated depth of ten thousand
feet. Like the rest of the country, these immense rock
masses are clothed in all the colors of the spectrum and

58

Rainbow Bridge TheJiHiiy

glow with a weird brilliance in th^^Hnng sunlight char-
acteristic of Arizona. The B^llocks are a series of
diminutive mountains ^^Bnng of comparatively
smooth pink rock, in s^BPthe whorls of silt as they
settled through ^j^tf? are clearly marked and
varicolored. Ther^Hroo way out except over their
rounded summits. It is a perfectly safe proceeding and
the footing is fine for both horse and rider; you'll be
quite content to walk^

This journey th^Ht have been describing is one of
the few left in the Southwest that it will never be pos-
sible to make by railway or motor-car for which we
may be grateful. But an automobile will take you within
thirteen miles of Rainbow Bridge, to a place where
there is a comfortable lodge, in which you may stay
as long as you want. But even if you can make only a
short visit, it is worth the day's ride across the mys-
terious Painted Desert from Winslow or Flagstaff, and
the climb up the trail to the summit, if only to get the
view from there. I think you will agree with me that
there is nothing else like it in the world. But if you
do take the trail, you will appreciate the co-operation
.of a sure-footed mule and a Mexican stock-saddle,
whether you start from John WetherilTs little prin-
cipality, Kayenta, or two days' ride from spectacular
Navajo Mountain.

For information about details of the round trip, write
to my old friend John Wetherill at Kayenta P. O., Ari-
zona he is the postmaster there. You will find that
you can get a lot out of the country of Rainbow Bridge
and the Grand Canyon in a thirty-day trip from New

59

Trails Through the Golden West

York and back. And you will like Wetherill he is a
real man, and as the Navajos said years ago (and
Roosevelt confirmed later) he speaks with "a straight
tongue." Finally, he is about the last of the Arizona
pioneers, and he won't be here very much longer. When
he's gone, the Arizona desert won't be quite the same.

60

The Grand Canyon of the Colorado

WHEN enthusiastic travelers compare notes on
the sights that have impressed them most in vari-
ous parts of the world, they are likely to find them-
selves at a loss for adjectives that they can trust to
convey their feelings adequately. So many places defy
their vocabularies to produce the exact word, and so
many of the words that naturally come to mind have
been misused until they no longer mean anything. But
everybody who sees the Grand Canyon of the Colorado
agrees that in this instance the adjective is precisely
right. What is more, when we come face to face with
such immensity an immensity that is actually shock-
ingwe are likely to feel that if "grand" is the right
term here, then it ought never to be applied to any-
thing else among the natural wonders of the world.
For it must henceforth mean to us something that is
unique, indescribable in its majesty, its terrible beauty,
its power to strike awe to the soul v

He who has not seen the Grand Canyon may ask how
it is possible for a thing to be lovely and at the same
time terrible. For his answer he must go and see it. Then

61

Trails Through the Golden West

he will know. The Canyon is like an ancient oracle : it
replies to your questions, but the interpretation of its
replies rests with you it depends on what kind of per-
son you are. I do not mean literally, of course, that you
will do any "asking" as you stand and look out over
this tremendous spectacle; indeed, you are far more
likely to be struck speechless, overcome by such emo-
tions as you never felt before. What you see is so utterly
unexpected. You may have been all over the world and
have looked on hundreds of natural marvels ; you may
have been told about the Canyon, or read about it, or
seen pictures of it! You may have vivid imagination
that has created for you what you think must be a
pretty adequate vision of what the Grand Canyon really
looks like. No matter. None of this is any good, S$ you
will discover when you get there. Whatever your antici-
pations, the reality will dwarf them^

There is nothing especially interesting or remark-
able about the last few miles of the approach to the
Canyon. When your train reaches the southern verge
there is a sharp drop of a hundred feet or so back to the
level of the plain over which you have been speeding
since daylight. While you were asleep the car in which
you have been riding ever since you left Chicago was
shunted off the Santa F main line to a side track at
Williams, Arizona that once wild-and-woolly cow-
town with fifty miles left to go before reaching the
Grand Canyon. As you look out of the car-window
over that wide expanse of sagebrush desert on the
left-hand side of the train, you will hardly realize that,
hidden completely by the steep grade and by the mag-

62

The Grand Canyon of the Colorado

nificent conifers of Coconino Forest, there lies one of the
wonders of the world. And when the train conies to a
stop at the hotel, things still seem rather commonplace.
You alight at the back door of El Tovar and walk up
several flights of stairs to the lobby. It is just break-
fast time. You are looking forward to a nice table at a
window from which you can see the Grand Canyon.
Your first set-back arrives when you learn that the
dining-room overlooks the desert, not the gorge. How-
ever, after breakfast will do. You finish your meal,
light a cigar, and complacently stroll out on the plaza
to see what may be seen. Near the parapet there are
some seats ; you take one, and proceed to look.

And look. And look. Presently you note subconsciously
that your cigar has gone out, or fallen from your fingers
something; anyhow, you haven't the mind now
to get it going again. For; mind and heart and body
are tense with incredulous astonishment. All your at-
tention is needed to assure you that what you are look-
ing at is real.

^Stretching "before your eyes for miles and miles is
a flame-tinted void/ Your eyes are blurred, and when
you rub them they descry something far down in the
depths, away off to the left a silver thread glinting in
the sun's rays. Yes that's the Colorado River, and it
lies a trifle more than one mile below the spot where you
are sitting. Directly opposite and etched against the
startling blue of the Arizona sky are the cliffs that form
the northern rim of the Canyon. They look all of five or
six miles away. They are twelve miles away. Just in
front of you is a crimson cliff now, that is close;

63

Trails Through the Golden West

you could toss a pebble and hit it. You toss the pebble
it falls at your feet, and somebody nearby Informs you
that the cliff is more than a hundred yards from your
seat.

It is all very upsetting, however large your precon-
ceptions have been. You begin to understand why the
hotel people did not put the dining-room on the Canyon
side of the building. The sunlight is a little hard on your
eyes, so you go in and get your dark glasses and come
out again and look. Just sit there and look. If anybody
speaks to you he goes unanswered. Either you don't
hear him, or else you can't bear the sound of a human
voice* At this moment, the biggest fact in the world to
you is silence, imponderable but overwhelming silence.
Not even a bird-note is to be heard. After a while it
begins to dawn on you that people were right when they
confessed that they could not describe the Grand Can-
yon. You won't be able to, yourself, now that you have
seen it.

A hotel attendant comes along and asks whether you
want to take a motor ride along the rim. Tell him no
not today, anyway. You have got to give your senses
and your nerves a chance to get used to this miracle.
It would be a little too much for your self-control to
have to listen to some Hermione call the Canyon "swell,"
and certainly you would strangle that idiot who has just
sauntered out from the breakfast table, toothpick in
mouth, and who would be sure to tell the world that
the Canyon was "some ditch, believe me." Moreover, you
do not have to take a motor-car; some of the spots
that are best worth seeing can be reached only on foot.

The Grand Canyon of tfre Colorado

The motor cannot approach them; the lazy will not.
Find one of these, and you will be safe from the crowd.

At some of these places you can sit down and let
your feet hang over if you have nerve enough to go
right to the brink of that precipice; and when you
drop a pebble down from the side of your knee it will
fall twenty-five hundred feet without touching any-
thing. You wonder how on earth anybody ever manages
to get down to the bottom of that pit alive. But it ap-
pears that other people have done it, quite a lot of them ;
so you can decide that you will try it,

KFhe painter of the Canyon is the sun, and his Brushes
of comet's hair 5 * are in use every hour of the day .} Since
every picture that he and the clouds paint is different,
we might change the figure of speech to the kaleidoscope.
The atmosphere, too, is a potent factor in this amazing
play of light and shadow and color. Some of it you will
be able to catch with your camera. Indeed, if you are
a camera enthusiast you will have the time of your life
here. But you must confine your efforts to early morn-
ing and late afternoon, avoiding midday, especially for
taking pictures along the rim when the sun is over-
head everything flattens out, photographically speak-
ing.

But you must take your camera work seriously if you
want good results. A good many amateurs have been
heartbroken because their cameras have served them well
everywhere else during their summer holiday, only to be-
tray them when they reached the Grand Canyon. They
have not learned that in Arizona the danger lies in
under-exposure, and that the safest rule is to take

65

Trails Through the Golden West

time-exposures. Brilliant sunlight does not always imply
a clear atmosphere. If you haven't the patience for
time-exposures and prefer instantaneous work, then
set your camera at not more than 25, or even 20, in point
of time. Under normal conditions the difference be-
tween 25 and 50 is so infinitesimal that you would have
difficulty in determining which was which in the ap-
pearance of either negative or print. But where you
encounter red rays in the sunlight, as is so frequently
the case in desert country, you'll find that 25 in time
and 8 in the diaphragm will prove the salvation of many
a good shot that would otherwise be lost to you. This
advice is not meant for the "sharks" ; it is intended for
folk like me who never could find the time to take their
photography seriously until driven to' it by tragic
losses.

Again, choose your subjects with care. There is such
an embarrassment of scenic riches here that a little
selection on your part will yield great rewards. This is,
too, another argument for your wandering off by your-
self instead of following the crowd, most of whose pho-
tographic longings are satisfied by an Indian who looks
as if he had been intercepted on his way to a masquerade
ball, compelled to mount into the saddle, shade his eyes
with his hand, and point dramatically across the Can-
yon. Either that or the cowboy who has ascertained that
the Open Sesame to popularity with a certain brand
of tourist is to pose nonchalantly with cigarette, som-
brero, snaky silk handkerchief, and chaps beside his
faithful bronc, just returned from "night-herding" and
ready to brave the dangers of a descent into the Can-

66

The Grand Canyon of the Colorado

yon. Under pressure he will admit that it's a great life
if you don't weaken. But you will learn to take that
cowboy a lot more seriously when you see him start
down the trail to the river with a string of horses on
which are mounted a heterogeneous lot of men and
women and young folk, all of whom are going to be per-
fectly safe under his guidance.

The sun is setting. Scarlet flames creep up the sides
of the Canyon walls in one direction; in another the deep
shadows are apparently dropping down, down, down
into bottomless depths. Where a few moments ago the
river was winding its silvery and tortuous way there is
now only a purple path between towering walls, shot
through here and there with an errant gleam that has
escaped through a cranny in those erosion-bitten peaks
in the gorge. Faraway ranges light up, one by one, with
an unearthly luminosity as the foreground becomes less
and less distinct and the middle distance is suddenly
metamorphosed from a blazing inferno into sharply
silhouetted, ragged ramparts of innumerable peaks
fringed with fire. Overhead the sky is banked with
fleecy, billowing clouds. It seems hardly possible that
a mere human being could behold such ineffable glory
and live to tell the tale. An awful solemnity pervades
the place, and a silence that , is almost palpable.

I At home, the coming of night is just nightfall. In
the Grand Canyon it is a miracle.

67

Down the Canyon Trail

TO VISIT the Grand Canyon and not take the horse-
back ride down to the river would be to leave the
cream of your experience untasted. You have looked
at the gorge from the rim, but how much can you take
in, from that point of view, of a canyon nearly three
hundred miles long, twelve miles wide, and a mile deep ?
You do not realize, as you stand there, that your feet are
on a level with the tops of mountain peaks 6000 to
7000 feet, high. For the time being, the world you live
in is an inverted world : instead of arriving normally at
the foot of a mountain, which you may or may not climb,
but whose summit eludes your eye when you stand at
the base, you are here reversing the whole process. By
equally natural stages you have arrived at a height from
which you look down upon scores of peaks below. It
is a bewildering, a paralyzing, sensation, especially when
you realize that nowhere else on earth could you invert
normal experience in quite the same way. What actually
lies down there at the bottom you can find out only by
going down to see; only so can you make the acquaint-
ance of that unique display of the forces of Nature,

68

.,,_

This youngster is a member of one of the proudest
and most prosperous Indian tribes of the Southwest
the Navajos.

Down the Canyon Trail

When you consider that more than 100,000 people
visit this place annually and that the great majority
make the descent to the river, you need have no fear.
If you are inclined to be nervous the prospect may
daunt you for a moment, but the chances are before you
have proceeded a hundred yards on that six-m3e jaunt
down to the suspension bridge you'll be glad you made
the start.

There is nothing in the way of trail-building to equal
the splendid piece of work that the National Govern-
ment has done here. Scarcely a spot in the whole mag-
nificent trip could be described as risky if a person
simply keeps his head and doesn't try to "drive" his
horse or mule. No human could know that trail so well
as the trusty four-footed beast that will carry you, and
he's just as much interested in staying alive as you are.
It may be that you will prefer to walk down. All right,
but don't fool yourself that you can make your way
back to the Canyon rim afoot on the same day. Quite
a number of athletic folk have tried that little experi-
ment and failed. You will be very thankful for a good
horse under you for the return trip, whether that day
or the next. In the midsummer the thermometer has a
way of its own in the depths of the Canyon ; you are now
a mile nearer the center of the earth than normally.
You will not mind the heat at all on horseback, but you
won't want to walk very far.

There is a charming little caravanserai not far from
the bridge on the far side of the river, known as Phan-
tom Ranch. Here you may eat a good luncheon and
spend the night if you wish, with the reward of a glori-

69

Trails Through the Golden West

cms sunrise in the depths of the Canyon ; or you may
return to the rim the same day. There is a highly in-
teresting horseback ride up Bright Angel Canyon to
the north rim a diverting climb of 7000 feet; but it
is infinitely more entrancing and less tiring to take the
journey in the opposite direction.

By this time it is probably evident to you that I am
trying to prolong your stay at Grand Canyon ; I am.
This is the one spot in our Southwest, more than any
other, where a fleeting glimpse is simply an exaspera-
tion. Don't attempt to "do" the Canyon in a day or
two. If your time is limited, cut out something else.
Don't try to force the issue with this amazing High
Altar of Nature's God ; it is not fair to the Canyon and
it is not fair to yourself.

As you descend the trail your nervousness will pass
and you will begin to feel comfortable and at home
in the saddle. You will let your eyes wander about a
bit and you'll discover a variety of vistas more inter-
esting than the line between your mule's ears. The com-
fortable gradients of the zigzag pathway will appeal
to you. It will become apparent as you proceed that the
Caijyon is like a huge, extended letter V, with the sides
broken into a tremendous terrace halfway down. Here
you travel for three or four miles on a vast level rocky
plain or mesa, which extends to the verge of the lower
gorge.

With bated breath you approach that fearful brink
and gaze down at the raging torrent 1500 to 2000 feet
below, imprisoned between granite walls that are less
than a hundred yards apart. But at that height you

70

Down the Canyon Trail

will not catch the faintest echo of the onrushing river,
whose tumultuous roar, were you down there beside it
would drown the sound of your voice. It is through
such an experience and only so that you can begin
to realize the appalling dimensions of the Grand Canyon.
As your stunned consciousness tries to take in the
beetling crags of the lower reaches, the vaulting min-
arets, the high flame-colored cliffs, and the filmy lace-
work of the parti-colored and eroded rock, you wonder
how people can content themselves year after year with
holidays at smart resorts, or even with trips to Europe,
when such marvelous natural wonders as these are ac-
cessible.

When you reach the middle of the suspension bridge
your view is unobstructed, and the first thing that will
catch your attention is a high-water mark on the choco-
late-colored granite walls, about thirty feet above the
level of the river. A little below this, where the stream
curves to the left, you may see a huge sandbar, several
acres in extent, covered with great boulders five to ten
feet in diameter. These will give you an idea of the
frightful force of this river when it is in flood, for the
chances are that this sandbar and the boulders were
not there before the latest flood and that the next one
will carry them entirely away. Such are the ways of the
Colorado River. Remember that it carries a fifty-per-
cent solution of silt. During untold millions of years
it has been steadily cutting its way a mile deep through
the sandstone, limestone, and Archean granite of the
Arizona desert on its 1600-mile journey to the Gulf
of California. It is so heavily charged with mud and

71

Trails Through the Golden West

sand that if a man were to fall in, the weight of his
clothing would sink him unless he were rescued at once.
The plateau drained by the Colorado River, lying
between the Rocky Mountains and the Sierra Nevada
in California, takes in 300,000 square miles of Ari-
zona, Utah, Wyoming, and Colorado; and naturally
the river has many tributaries and acquires a sharp
grade in some places before it reaches sea-level. But
it is none the less hard to believe that the Colorado,
above its junction with the Little Colorado (which has
a 2000-foot-deep gorge of its own), contains the dis-
charge of eleven different rivers. It takes its rise in the
Green River of Wyoming and the Grand River of Colo-
rado. At the confluence of these two, in Utah seven hun-
dred miles farther south, it assumes its name Colorado,
owing to the color of the silt and clay drained from the
surrounding country. From start to finish it has given
birth, so to speak, to two hundred well-defined rapids of
the most violent and dangerous character, which force
their way between those vertical cliffs at the rate of
ten to fifteen miles an hour. In the countless centuries
of its ceaseless activity it has made for itself a channel
averaging thirty feet in depth and three hundred feet
in width between the most gorgeously pigmented walls
imaginable, rising precipitously 2500 to 3000 feet above
the level of the river. The most brilliant and spectacular
of these flame-tinted gorges is the Marble Canyon or
upper end of the Grand Canyon itself, recently bridged.
It is not far from Lee's Ferry, where the river has cut
its way through the northern portion of the Painted
Desert and is quite accessible by motor-car from El

72

Down the Canyon Trail

Tovar. This is the only vehicular bridge across the Colo-
rado above the Needles, in California, where the trans-
continental railways cross it somewhat above sea-level.

The construction of this bridge has made both the
north and the south rims of the Canyon accessible to
the motorist, whereas a few years ago the north rim
could be reached only by motor-car from Salt Lake City
and the south rim by the Santa Fe Railway. Lee's Ferry
itself, an interesting and historic spot, is decidedly
worth a visit. Here is where John D. Lee, Mormon leader
of the notorious Mountain Meadow massacre in Utah
in 1857, managed to secrete himself for fifteen years be-
fore being "smoked out" by the United States soldiers
in 1872. Five years later he had to choose between a rope
and a firing squad. He chose the latter, and went to his
finish seated on his coffin. Lee's Ferry consisted in a
flatboat operated on a cable, and he located it at this
one spot in a thousand miles where the Colorado was
not so torn by rapids or so hemmed in by cliffs as to be
impassable ; for seventy years it has been the only regular
and accepted way of crossing the river. For all I know
it is running yet. But the mountain trail that overlooks
the Canyon and leads to this ferry offers an unfor-
gettable motor ride.

A few years ago, the outstanding consideration in
taking a trail out in the West was whether the traveler
got through without any disaster. If nothing happened
to him it was a good trail ; if anything went wrong, it
was a bad one. But this has been changed by the auto-
mobile. There are few places today where the traveler
takes any serious chance, whether afoot, in the saddle,

73

Trails Through the Golden West

or driving a car. And, happily, there are plenty of
unspoiled spots still left where you may take your
choice of what motive power you will use. You will be
wise if you never miss an opportunity to make a trip
by pack-train. No more satisfying or exhilarating way
of seeing new country has ever been devised than from
the seat of a comfortable Mexican saddle on a sturdy
trail horse, with a camp in the open at the end of the day,
rather than a hotel. Or if you prefer a motor-car you
will find that Arizona is one of the few places rich in
scenery where a car can be used to cover the miles that
often intervene between the railroad and some place
into which the odor of gasoline can never intrude.

In such circumstances I know of no one better quali-
fied for either or both methods of travel than that desert
veteran, John Wetherill of Kayenta, Arizona. Better
horses and equipment I have never seen than his. Fur-
thermore, he knows the location of all the springs and
waterholes in Arizona and New Mexico, lacking which
any person undertaking travel in that hinterland is
destined for all kinds of trouble. And, when it comes to
nursing along a refractory or crippled motor-car, old
John is nothing less than a wizard. If you have ever
done any desert-driving you will appreciate precisely
what I mean. If you haven't you had better serve an
apprenticeship before starting in. You may be an ex-
pert behind the wheel on a concrete road but, take it
from me, you will find the desert a vastly different
proposition. It has a way of humiliating the motorist
whose experience has been mainly east of the Rocky
Mountains.

74

Down the Canyon Trail

This suggests one of the most enthralling desert trips,
combining the use of pack-train and motor-car, that the
imagination of the traveler ever conjured. I myself
took it some years ago, with John Wetherill, and I still
live in hopes of repeating it before I'm too old to nego-
tiate a mountain trail. Wetherill will meet you at El
Tovar or Flagstaff with a car for about six hours of
driving across the multicolored escarpments of the
Painted Desert to Kayenta. If you leave from El Tovar
you will pause for a never-to-be-forgotten sight of the
Canyon at Grand View ; thence you will cross the Little
Colorado over the Government bridge at Cameron's,
and follow the tortuous course of the 2000-foot-deep
gorge which that small sister of the big river has cut
through the desert all by herself.

Follows what should be not less than a fourteen-
day round trip by pack-train from Kayenta to the
marvels of Rainbow Bridge, which I have described
earlier. If you insist, John will do it in less time, but
you won't. Returning by motor, a little visit to the Indian
village of Moenkopi will prove highly diverting. From
here you will take your way north through the fasci-
nating Nava jo country, over the upper reaches of the
Painted Desert and along the base of picturesque and
brilliant Echo Peaks. For your night's camp choose be-
tween the Indian trader's oasis on the desert and "Buck"
Lowery's camp at the far end of Lee's Ferry Bridge.
In either event, you will cross this remarkable structure
that night or next morning. A magnificent steel fabric,
built at the joint expense of the National Government
and the State of Arizona, completed in 1928. It spans

75

Trails Through the Golden West

the Marble Canyon with a total length of 833 feet and
467 feet above the level of the river the highest bridge
in the world. Further, it is the only vehicular bridge ever
built across the Colorado River, at the upper end of
the Grand Canyon, joining the north and the south
rims of that famous gorge and bringing the motorist into
close touch with those magnificent natural wonders on
the north side: Zion National Park and Bryce Canyon.

Next morning finds you on a desert road on the north
side of the river en route for the celebrated Kaibab For-
est, which borders the irregular north rim of the
Canyon for untold miles and is traversed by a most
entrancing serpentine motor road. Here you will see
one of the most curious little animals in the world, the
Kaibab Squirrel, found in only two places the Kaibab
and Siberia. This interesting rodent is about the size
of a house cat, with a jet-black body and a pure white,
bushy tail which, in common with all the squirrel family,
he carries like a veritable oriflamme over his sleek back,
the tip lying almost between his ears. He is worth go-
ing a long way to see. Since he and his brothers are
protected by national law, scores of them may be seen
fearlessly coursing in every direction and running up
and down the lofty conifers that make that vast forest.
You will also see here and there a bunch of Black-tail
or mule deer; they may stray within range of your
camera.

On your way over the desert after leaving Lee's
Ferry Bridge you may pass a place that has been known
for years as the "Deserted Ranch." The house is built
entirely of stone, with a pathetic attempt at architec-

76

Down the Canyon Trail

tural design. The story goes that the rancher, whose
name has passed into oblivion, was a discontented mem-
ber of one of the many Mormon settlements in southern
Utah, and decided to leave his brethren and start out
for himself in a more promising spot. He built the sturdy
home and established his wife and a couple of young-
sters there. Then he proceeded to dig a two-mile trench
from a spring rising in the foot-hills of the Buckskin
Mountains to his corrals and made a brave start with
a small bunch of cattle. His nearest neighbors being
in the little Mormon town of Kanab, about thirty-five
miles distant, he had few visitors. And then one day,
he vanished, along with his family and his cattle. His
disappearance was noted in Kanab, where he had gone
periodically for supplies, and some friends rode over
to investigate. They found the place deserted. That
was years ago, and no one has ever heard of them since.
In a crude little enclosure, a few yards from the house,
may be seen a couple of sad-looking graves with a rough
board at the head of each, on one of which, when I was
there, could barely be deciphered the name "Jimmie,"
roughly scratched with a lead-pencil. The name on the
other has disappeared, if indeed there ever was one.
Presumably these are the graves of the children, but
no one knows. Whether he was attacked and his cattle
were stolen, or whether he abandoned the place for any
of a dozen possible reasons, is a matter of pure con-
jecture. Even to this day in these out-of-the-way places
it isn't considered good form to ask questions, and the
chances are small that this mystery will ever be solved.
Following a magnificent motor ride through the
77

Trails Through the Golden West

Kaibab Forest the next day, including a sunset and
some glorious views from several vantage points on
the north rim, you will camp somewhere near the head
of Bright Angel Canyon, where you will be met with
saddle-horses for which you will have arranged before
leaving El Tovar. Here old John will take his leave,
and you'll be sorry to see him go. He will mate his way
back to Kayenta in his car and you will have before
you the adventure of a lifetime the exploration of
Bright Angel Canyon.

9

Threading Bright Angel Canyon

IF THERE is anything to match the grandeur of
the 6000-foot descent into Bright Angel Canyon
on the back of a sure-footed saddle-horse, I don't know
where it is to be found. On the way down you pass
through one of the most daring and ingenious bits of
trail-making in the canyon, where the necessary path-
way was dynamited from the cliff-side of the Redwall
limestone. Here may be had a gorgeous view of Roaring
Springs, which burst forth with a deafening peal from
the canyon wall and go careering down the mountain-
side in three husky streams, with a final drop of forty
feet to the bottom of the canyon. You will reach the foot
of the trail about mid-afternoon and will relish the ex-
perience of campfing there over night. Near by will be
heard the laughing waters of Ribbon Fall, an exquisite
cataract ; and I venture to say that you will be ready for
the finest shower bath of your life. Of course, if you are
determined to rush things, your guide may be able to
pilot you through to Phantom Ranch that same day. In
view, however, of the fact that you are making this de-
scent for the purpose of riding through one of the most

79

Trails Through the Golden West

awesome and inspiring canyons in the United States, in
which your camera may yield rich returns, you will nat-
urally prefer making the trip when the sun is overhead
rather than setting. No real nature-lover will want to
pass through such a spot practically in the dark. You
will have descended 6000 feet, to a level with the Colo-
rado itself, and you are about to make your way out to
the confluence of Bright Angel Creek with the main
stream, through a meandering gorge six miles long, 2500
to 3000 feet deep, and from fifty to one hundred feet
wide.

During the three to four hours it will take your horse
to make the journey, he will cross and recross that
limpid stream no fewer than a hundred times. You will
be in somber shadows some of the time, where the over-
hanging cliffs will shut out the sunlight entirely. Then
suddenly you will be subjected to a barrage of sunshine
where the walls of the gorge widen or where erosion
has reduced their height. Your camera will be working
overtime and, even at that, you won't get half of what
your greedy amateur's heart will covet. But you'll have
plenty as it is.

There is supernal beauty in this place. You will be
quite content to spend the Anight in camp, indulge a
glorious plunge under Ribbon Fall in the morning and
then proceed on your way, congratulating yourself on
having had too much wisdom to "hurry the Canyon."
Indeed that will be a day of days, and when you reach
Phantom Ranch about four-thirty or five o'clock you
will be ready for such a dinner as you would be ashamed
to eat elsewhere.

80

Threading Bright Angel Canyon

After your night's rest you will be ready for the
ascent to El Tovar. By eliminating Rainbow Bridge
you can cut the time in two, but it will prove to be the
most expensive economy you ever undertook. Better
write to John Wetherill about it. All you'll need for
such a trip is a sleeping-bag, riding breeches or knick-
ers, a flannel shirt, wide-brimmed hat, and a fairly heavy
pair of boots with no hobnails f

The ideal plan for such a trip is to form a party of
from two to four congenial spirits. This will materially
reduce the individual expense, and it goes without saying
that the fellowship of kindred minds enhances the joys
of the road immeasurably. Don't let the increment of
the years lead you to consider yourself too old for such
an undertaking. When our party went into Rainbow
Bridge with John Wetherill, a few years ago, he had
just returned with the most enthusiastic pair of "young-
sters" I ever ran into : a man and his wife, both of whom
were past sixty-five. Age is no bar to such a glorious
adventure.

There is another fascinating trip into the Canyon
for the consideration of those whose time is limited:
down the celebrated Hermit Trail, a few miles east of
El Tovar, for a night's camp in the depths ; a leisurely
horseback: ride along the plateau or second level, for a
few miles, to the base of Bright Angel Trail, where the
return is made to the rim.

For those who don't mind a bit of rough going, a
visit to the Havasupai Indian reservation in Havasu
Canyon will yield wondrous returns. Scarcely one in
ten thousand who visit the Grand Canyon ever hears

81

Trails Through the Golden West

of this glorious valley, be-jeweled by seven beautiful
cataracts falling into an exquisite oasis, tucked away
2600 feet below the rim.

This lovely spot is accessible, these days, by a motor
ride of forty miles over the smooth roads of the Coconino
Forest to the head of Topocobya Trail, where saddle-
horses will be waiting. Here begins a trail of ten miles
down the cliffs and to the Havasu village, the like of
which you have never seen and probably never will see.
The trip cannot be made in less than five days from El
Tovar and return. But by the time you have returned
from it you will be eligible for membership in the Grand
Canyon Veterans. If possible you should make a friendly
call enroute on that grizzled veteran William Bass,
in his shact at the head of the trail down into the Can-
yon bearing his name. Bass built this trail in the early
days, and in connection with it he operated a cable-
crossing over the Colorado River. The cable-car, so
called, consisted of a wooden structure resembling a
single stall in an old-fashioned stable, propelled by a
hand-operated winch, at which the passenger was sup-
posed to assist. For many years this cable was the only
available crossing of the river west of Lee's Ferry. The
construction in recent years of the suspension bridge
at the foot of Bright Angel Trail and the Lee's Ferry
Bridge has rather hurt old Bill's business, but he doesn't
mind. Bill Bass is a curious character. He wouldn't
get very far as a room clerk at El Tovar, but he cer-
tainly knows his Canyon and he has a bunch of rare
yarns in store for the trustful traveler, accompanied
by what might be called a sliding scale of rates for his

82

Threading Bright Angel Canyon

personal services. For instance, he really believes that
any sightseer who would spend perfectly good money
to come to a place like the Grand Canyon, when he
might enjoy a real vacation at Coney Island, should
have his head examined. Your coming will therefore
prove to him that you are unfit to be trusted with money
which could be put to a much more worthy purpose if
it were in his hands. When I visited Havasu Canyon the
route consisted of a twenty-mile wagon ride with Mr.
Bass, over a trail whose memories still linger with me.
At that time he was very much inclined to frown on
automobiles, which he considered new-fangled and un-
trustworthy accessories to travel.

Havasupai ! "Children of the Blue water" in these
musical accents the stream that blesses the pitiful re-
mainder of a once-flourishing tribe is well-named. It
is purely an incident (though a very fortunate one)
that they have a reservation down in that entrancing
spot. Heaven knows they are entitled to something from
this forgetful Government of ours. If that beautiful can-
yon were located where anybody but a daffy desert-
enthusiast could reach it, the poor wretches would find
themselves supplanted by their acquisitive white brothers
over night. Even more pathetic were the virtually ma-
rooned agent and his wife the only white people there.
They will be glad to see you. Down a badly broken-up,
helter-skelter trail, for what seems like an interminable
journey, the wary trail horse picks his way. It won't
be long before you will descend from the saddle, prefer-
ring foot-travel to the possibility of broken bones. And
you will be interested to note how soon your horse will

83

Trails Through the Golden West

follow almost in your very footsteps. Notwithstanding
his familiarity with rough travel, he seems to have it
figured out in his own mind that a human being knows
more than he does ; hence his dependence on his leader.
You will scarcely credit the fact, as you descend, that
all the supplies, household furnishings, etc., for both
white man and mulatto-colored Havasupai, are trans-
ported over that amazing trail. But when you get to
the bottom and realizing that your head is still on your
shoulders and your horse has not quite stepped on
y OU the charming view before you and the sound of
falling waters that greets your ears will prove to you
that the difficulties have been worth facing,

Before you lies a fertile valley Havasu Canyon
not large but lovely, traversed by a crystal-clear stream
and hedged in by lofty pink walls, with all the familiar
tokens of fairy-like erosion and colorful brilliance of
the Grand Canyon itself. This valley suggested itself as
another good place for hiding when John D. Lee, who
has already been mentioned, was evading the United
States soldiers during the '60's ; here he found sanctu-
ary during part of that period, and if he had stayed
he might have lived longer than he did. This canyon is
one of the outstanding attractions of the Grand Canyon,
though its narrow, bottle-neck entrance gives the travel-
er no hint of the beauties to be found inside. It expands
into a graceful and symmetrical oval surrounded by
thousand-foot cliffs that are ablaze with color. The
dainty little "river of blue water" that runs through
the middle is lush with watercress and edged by high
cottonwood trees. Beyond lies a group of lovely water-

84

Atchisoiij Topcka and Santa Fe Ry,

The thin white line seen winding down the opposite
side of the Grand Canyon is the famous Bright Angel
Trail which leads all the way to the Canyon floor.

Threading Bright Angel Canyon

falls, one of which higher than Niagara has in the
course of the centuries worn an exquisite basin at its
foot, where you may luxuriate to your heart's content
minus a hathing-suit. By midsummer this generous
water supply will have dwindled to a mere trickle. But
while it lasts the Indians plant an abundance of apricots
and melons, with enough alfalfa for their livestock. So,
remote from the rest of humankind, they spend their
days until the arrival of winter ; and when the melting
snows on the rim of the canyon above their heads send
floods into the valley, they abandon it for caves in
the cliffs higher up. With the coming of spring the
waters subside, leaving their fields and gardens well
fertilized by the deposit of silt. Then they start the
year over again.

You will enjoy spending a day or two among these
friendly folk. Fewer than two hundred of the tribe are
left, and they grow fewer with each year; in time they
will, of course, die out entirely.

By now you will have realized that any plan you have
made for an itinerary allowing for only a few days at
the Grand Canyon calls for revision if you are to have
a really enjoyable holiday. And if part of your time
there is given to some inquiry into the geological aspects
of the country, you will add immensely to that enjoy-
ment. For if a brief survey of the Canyon is so over-
whelming an experience, what science has to tell us about
the tremendous natural forces and the eternities at
work in creating it is infinitely more so. An amazing
drama has been acted here for countless millions of
years.

85

Trails Through the Golden West

Down there at the very bottom of that fearful slash
through nearly 7000 feet of the earth's surface, we
find in the Archean granite the oldest stratum known
to the geologist the igneous crust that was the first
to cool from internal volcanic fires. Then realize that
the deposit superimposed on this Archean stratum was
13,000 feet (two miles and a half) deep; this was its
original thickness it is now but 7000 feet. In other
words, the original deposit was 6000 feet higher than
the present rim of the Canyon. The attrition of
thousands upon thousands of centuries wore that 13,000
feet of rock away before the mile-high mountains and
the terraced cliffs which now compose the Canyon were
even deposited in the form of silt and ooze on the bottom
of the prehistoric ocean that covered that portion of
the earth's surface.

Try to imagine this section of our Southwest, em-
bracing an area of 100,000 square miles, being imper-
ceptibly lifted 6000 feet above the level of the sea
until the exposed portion, having meantime hardened
into rock, was eroded by the elements and once more
sank to the sea's bottom in the shape of sand and silt
of various colors to be further changed by salt water.
This vast terrain, after a few additional millions of
years, sank about 10,000 feet deeper, only to rise again
with the unceasing changes in the earth's crust, in the
course of measureless time. And so, up and down
throughout the eons, during which various strata were
deposited in layers, some of them 1000 feet in depth,
successively compacting themselves into solid rock as
they were thrust above the sea-level, until the process

86

Threading Bright Angel Canyon

came to a close with the Pleistocene Age, Result :- there
were laid down sixteen geological divisions of time, which
are today disclosed to the eye of the scientist in the
eroded walls of the Canyon for the six to seven thousand
feet of its depth. Meanwhile that irresistible, rushing
torrent continues on its way as it has done for count-
less eons. Unquestionably there must have been some
mighty cataclysm of Nature that cracked the South-
west across the dome and opened the way for the huge
floods that followed. Floods subside, but given this
amazing river, starting on its way to the seacoast from
a source 6000 feet above its present level, it is not sur-
prising that it should have developed into a Brob-
dignagian handsaw, 1600 miles long, which, for century
after century, has been cutting its way steadily through
every rocky stratum in the outer coating or jacket of
the globe, severing in twain, like a huge cheese, 100,000
square miles of territory just as it was left on the final
subsidence of the waters, millions upon millions of years
ago.

As the swirling river, laden with sand, boulders, silt,
and shale, deepened the Canyon, lesser canyons were
formed on either side, creating the effect of a monster
herring-bone, through which swift-running streams
flowed in and assisted in the work of erosion. Thus we
have the widening out of the main portion of the Can-
yon itself, where the ancient rock has been chiseled away
leaving those countless mountains, with their exquisitely
colored and eroded peaks on a level with the topmost
rim.

After all, the most impressive feature of the Grand

87

Trails Through the Golden West

Canyon is the simplicity of its creation : plain, ordinary
erosion or attrition by the elements. Only, It is the
most stupendous and most ancient example of its kind
in the world. With ceaseless energy the gnawing tooth
of Time in the shape of sun, wind, sand, frost, and rain
has wrought a pigmented marvel in Arizona's desert
landscape that is the despair of artists and writers the
world over; the manifestation of a force that, given
time, could not possibly fail. All that was needed was
time, of which there has been no lack. And so it is
destined to continue into the misty, immeasurable future
until Time shall be no more.

88

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

r I THERE is a provoking perversity in the high hand-
* edness with which Nature sometimes carries out
her work. Certain places, it would seem, she has dis-
tinguished with an interrogation point a baffling query,
as it were, left behind for the especial benefit of inquisi-
tive travelers and contentious scientists. It is as if she
said to the self -constituted investigator, hot on the trail
of some of her most cherished secrets : "All right come
in and look around. Here is the cause, and there is the
effect. Don't ask me any questions. Figure it out for
yourself/ 5

If she had done precisely that with the Petrified For-
ests of Arizona, she couldn't have left the savants of
the world more completely at a loss than they always
have been and are today. Certain phases of the cause
are obvious ; others are as hopelessly hidden as if they
had been locked in the very bowels of the earth itself
and the key lost which, as a matter of fact, is a fair
description of the situation.

At Adamana station about halfway between Albuquer-
que and the Grand Canyon, on either side of the Santa

89

Trails Through the Golden West

Fe, there lie 400,000 acres of these petrified or agatized
trees, 62,000 of which were set aside in 1906 by Presi-
dent Roosevelt as the Petrified Forest National Monu-
ment. This act of our famous conservationist President
was one way of greeting that peculiar brand of souvenir-
hunter who would steal a red-hot stove if he could get
away with it.

Here are four hundred thousand acres covered with
prostrate, fossilized remains of a species of lofty pine
now extinct in this hemisphere, more or less resembling
those magnificent conifers that line the north and south
rims of the Grand Canyon today in the Kaibab and Co-
conino Forests. There is something incongruous in the
growth of these immense forests of pine cheek-by-jowl
with the desert from five to seven thousand feet above
the level of the sea. And the hand of man, in this in-
stance, which has constructed extensive motor roads
through them, has done a great and good piece of work
in a manner befitting the surroundings and void of of-
fense to the most fastidious traveler.

As you ride through these tremendous forests border-
ing the Grand Canyon today, try to imagine yourself
a spectator of those birth throes through which the
Southwest passed during the long-ago period that I
tried to describe in Chapter 9. Picture a subsidence of
the earth's crust that caused those towering pines to
topple over, all falling in the same general direction:
towards the south, creating the impression of vast
swaths, like a field of grain after the reaper has passed
over it. Following this cataclysm whose precise char-
acter is what puzzles the scientists try to visualize

90

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

100,000 square miles of that territory slowly sinking
down to a depth estimated at ten thousand feet, and a
prehistoric sea rushing in to fill the hole.

Let us draw on our imaginations again. Conceive of
the frightful weight of ten thousand feet of silt-laden
salt water, combined with gigantic lava flows from nu-
merous volcanoes internally disturbed by this earth-
shrinking process; and imagine the pressure on these
great trees lying prone beneath it all. If this ten thou-
sand feet of water had all flowed in at the same time,
those forest giants would have been flattened out like so
many boards. But the operation was so gradual as
virtually to constitute an embalming process.

In those vast depths the earth's hot springs were boil-
ing with various solutions of silica, iron, copper, sul-
phur, and salt. Under a pressure compared with which
the creosoting of a railroad tie is atomic, this sflicified
compound was forced into the very fiber and cells of the
wood until the whole fabric trunk, branches, twigs, and
roots was metamorphosed into the most beautifully
colored agate: red, scarlet, maroon, brown, yellow, blue
tints of every shade, pink, mauve green, and a gray. It
almost baffles human thought to picture these trees, sixty
to a hundred feet long, lying in orderly windrows nearly
three miles below the surface of the sea, with almost the
same thickness of exposed rock formation atop that.
Think of the millions of years during which this proc-
ess was going on, the mineralization of the trees be-
ginning, as we are told, with the first deposit of sediment
after the cataclysm that caused the ocean to flow in.
Then came that period in time when, all this miraculous

91

Trails Through the Golden West

work accomplished. Nature in a sense reversed herself,
and this vast undersea territory began to rise. So un-
wavering was this slow and steady upheaval that those
submerged forests of moss-agate trees, still weighed
down by thousands of feet of sedimentary deposit, were
forced upward from their Stygian depths to from two
to three miles above the surface of the sea. This act in
the tremendous drama was the next-to-last, being fol-
lowed by the work of that geological pruning-knif e of
Time, erosion.

A few additional millions of years served to eat
away the exposed sandstone and limestone deposits,
thousands of feet thick and thousands of square miles
in extent, until these amazing "forests" were once more
brought to light but how changed ! There is no ques-
tion that when first exposed they lay intact just as they
had sunk into the ooze of that prehistoric sea which
originally engulfed them and in which they became fos-
silized. With the progress of erosion, however, the sand-
stone and limestone in which they were encased dis-
integrated; and deprived of their underpinning, so to
speak, they fell away and were broken into sections from
ten to twenty feet long.

These "logs" may be found scattered helter-skelter
all over the bad-lands which constitute these tremendous
forests today. They vary in diameter from two to seven
feet, and the mathematical squareness with which they
have broken apart discloses a geological cross-section
that is both fascinating and beautiful, especially after
a rain, when the agatized coloring is unusually brilliant.
In many places the trees are found in their original

92

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

length of from 60 to 100 feet each, broken into from
six to fifteen sections, each two separated by not more
than one or two inches, indicating the uniformity of the
subsidence of the earth which preserved the tree in its
entirety even though it was broken into a dozen pieces.
The remarkable fossilization is carried out in the bark
of the tree with the same fidelity as in the grain. In fact,
were it not for the presence of the fractures one would
scarcely know the difference between the fossil and a
prostrate, dead tree divested of its branches.

The varying pressure and the differing character
of the chemicals forced into the tree cells have created a
variety of crystallization. Some of these huge trunks
are roughly circular in form, like a normally shaped
tree. Others notably the black are elliptical; still
others are hexagonal. The colors vary, reds and maroons
predominating, owing to the presence, in one section,
of iron manganese. Buffs and browns will be found else-
where, in addition to a jet black and various blues and
greens. These different colors characterize widely sepa-
rated forests, of which there are five altogether, the
First, Second, and Third, known as the Rainbow For-
ests; the Black Forest; and finally the Blue Forest,
which is the most brilliant and strikingly beautiful of
all. In this, though it is smallest, Nature has fairly out-
done herself in preserving every tint of blue, a heavenly
color in which an exquisite hyacinth predominates. The
traveler should therefore not seek to content himself
with a view of only one of these forests ; he would be
cheating himself. He might as well visit Rome and fail

93

Trails Through the Golden West
to see St. Peter's or the Vatican because his time was

limited,

This amazing process of mineralization occasionally
brings to light a nest of semi-precious stones ; amethyst,
opal, and smolcy topaz. Nothing but the setting aside
of these man-els as a National Monument has prevented
them from being exploited to the very limit by vandals
who formerly not only did not hesitate to commercial-
ize them but actually dynamited hundreds of these great
logs with a view to dislodging the jewels that Nature
had fashioned in their depths.

It is this mystifying process of petrifaction that has
kept the scientists guessing for years. Silica is the one
agent that has fossilized these prostrate monsters. Yet
silica is quite insoluble except in alkaline solutions. Only
in such circumstances could the silica be forced by the
frightful pressure overhead into the grain and cells of
the tree. And from this it follows that these great
trees must have lain in an alkaline solution for untold
ages during which the petrifaction proceeded. That,
at least, is the theory ; but even with such an explanation
the phenomenon is almost as puzzling as the character of
the strange cataclysm that caused these great forests
to topple over in windrows, heads pointing south, when
this world of ours was cooling off and taking shape.

The varicolored marls and sandstone from which
erosion has dislodged these trees are almost as brilliant
as the agatized trunks themselves. It is regular bad-land
country, such as may be seen in Wyoming and the Da-
iotas, only infinitely more brilliant. Maroon, pink, and
buff are the prevailing colors in the First forest, ac-

94

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

companled by a variety of reds, purples, and browns
In the Second. Innumerable buttes from ten to fifty feet
in height, banded laterally with these slashes of color,
create the impression of a limitless choppy sea, in the
hollows of which these gorgeous fossils glow in the blind-
ing ravs of Arizona sunshine. Here and there may be
found a veritable log- jam, as if the water from a mam-
moth boom had been drawn off, leaving the timber
stranded at the bottom. Other places, weU leveled off,
may be found on which hundred-foot trees lie prone, as
straight as arrows and broken into ten or twelve sections
as evenly as if they had been sawed before removal
to the mill.

In the First forest, six miles south of Adamana, may
be found one of the most remarkable specimens in all
five forests: a magnificent, unbroken log, 111 feet long,
spanning a ravine fifty feet wide and twenty feet deep
a real bridge of agate, tinder which the Government has
constructed a couple of piers to prevent possible ac-
cident. In the Second and Third forests, several miles
farther south, will be found many undisturbed trunks
lying in their original position; one particularly fine
specimen measures 120 feet in length, with a diameter
of seven feet.

If your time-limits absolutely preclude a really ade-
quate visit, and you can allow yourself only a fleeting
glimpse of these wonderful fossils, you may leave the
train at Holbrook or Winslow for a brief view of the
Rainbow Forest, taking a motor-coach for a seventy-
mile ride, over excellent roads, and rejoining your train
afterward. This is better than not doing it at all. But

95

Trails Through the Golden West

if you could just sell yourself the idea of getting the
most out of these marvels, you wouldn't miss a visit to
the Blue Forest, and still less would you wish to pass
by the most remarkable of them all : the Black Forest,
north from Adamana. Here is where the elliptical tree-
trunks are found calcified (not agatized) in black
adamant* Here may be seen one of the most unearthly
landscapes in the West. A veritable back-door en-
trance into Gehenna.

No one would dream that those elliptical logs lying
around in profusion, and those broken stumps project-
ing one to three feet above the dark, forbidding earth,
were fossils. They look exactly like the charred remains
of a forest fire. You can only think that some terrible,
devastating holocaust must have left the whole country,
as far as the eye can see, burnt to a cinder. Nowhere
else in the petrified-forest region will be found such a
presentment of Hell-let-loose; nowhere else such jagged
stumps, raising their broken, charred edges to a dazzling
blue sky, while their fossilized roots still cling to the
wasted soil. It is a paralyzing spot. You have seen the
orderly toppling of the trees in other sections and you
can understand how all that might have come about as a
result of a buckling of the earth's crust. But these
broken and split stumps create the impression that the
section was swept by a mighty avalanche, followed by
fire.

You pick up several pieces of different-sized fossils
and are astonished to note that the peculiar elliptical
shape prevails throughout: trunks, branches and roots,
You handle them as you would a bit of charred wood,

96

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

with gingerly touch, expecting to find your fingers
smutted. The place is creepy, seeming more deserted
than the brilliantly colored forests south of Adamana,
and the glance you cast towards the waiting motor-car
is more than friendly. You are glad that it is still there,
waiting for you, and that it won't be long before you
are on your way. Then for the first time, your eyes
wander off to the north the only point of the compass
not dominated by those satanic manifestations that
have been absorbing your attention and you behold
strange rolling country drenched in color, numerous
escarpments banded with reds, yellows, blues, purples,
and the white of limestone. If you have been sufficiently
forehanded to bring your field-glasses along, you will
have an opportunity for studying close at hand the
wonders of the Painted Desert.

A few hundred feet beyond where you are standing
the ground slopes away suddenly as if it had been ter-
raced. It is a strange phenomenon. Behind, a wicked,
menacing, scorched land. Before, a vast desert shot
through with a varied pigmentation, dancing in the
shimmering rays of the sun, carpeted in rose, lavender,
and old gold. As you sweep the country with your glasses
you will pick up some of the most fantastic shapes that
the gnawing tooth of erosion ever fashioned. Great
washes have left their flow-lines around the bases of
innumerable buttes, which rise from the floor of the
desert like so many cocked hats, with here and there a
wall of rock or escarpment that fairly sings with rud-
diness. This great expanse of multicolored desert
stretches north and west, rising higher and higher until

97

Trails Through the Golden West

it Wends with the south rini of the Grand Canyon and
those marvels of erosion, Rainbow Bridge, Monument
Valley, and Canyon de C f helly.

Not many years ago no one but an Indian would have
ventured into those waterless infernos. Today good
roads traverse them from one end of Arizona to the
other, and a motor service is run in connection with
transcontinental trains. Of course you would lite to
take a little ride down off that mesa topped by the
Black Forest and circle around a bit in the midst of
that glowing brilliance below "shoot" a few pictures
and go back home with the proof in your hands that you
have ridden over the Painted Desert. But just a moment
you are traveling on schedule and the motor-car driver
pulls out his watch and politely informs you that you
must be back at Holbrook or Winslow at such and such
&a hour, in order to make connection with the train.
Very well go back and spend two or three nights at
one of those picturesque hotels in either of the two towns,
and make up your mind to see the wonders of this strange
and fascinating country as they should be seen.

I never visit this wonderland but I go back in ret-
rospect to my first trip into the Southwest many years
ago. A thirty-day vacation in the month of July was
mine. Armed with a copy of Stevenson's c< Virginibus
Puerisque/* which was comparatively new at that date,
I recall running into that immortal bit : **For to travel
hopefully is a better thing than to arrive/ 5 Good, but I
was a trifle young to assimilate its full significance. It
was quite enough for me to apply it to the fact that I
was bound for the Grand Canyon, traveling hopefully

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

Into the desert country, with the thermometer register-
ing 1 something over 100. Railway rolling-stock in those
days did not include dust-tight windows or electric
fans. As we were approaching Adamana a fellow-pas-
senger informed me that this was where the Petrified
Forests were. The conductor looked me over apprais-
ingly as I asked for a stop-over, saying: "If old Adam
isn't at the water-tank, you'll probably find him at his
cabin" ; and he pointed out the direction. That was my
first intimation that Adamana was only a water-tank,
but it was too late to reconsider, for the train was slow-
ing down. As I walked toward the door I heard one
passenger ask of another "What crazy fool is getting
off at this God-forsaken place on a day like this?**
Judged by the luxury-loving traveler's standard, his
surprise was readily understood.

I found "old Adam** at the water-tank and received
as hearty a welcome as if I had been expected. It was
then I learned his full name Adam Hanna and heard
him tell with great gusto that the place had been named
for him. I venture to say, however, that neither the offi-
cial who named that water-tank Adamana, after the old
man, nor the old veteran himself, ever dreamed how
widely known that coined name would become in future
years. I spent two nights with Adam, in his cabin on
the edge of the desert, and by him was inducted into the
mysteries of the Petrified Forests. He had lived in the
desert since he was a young man, when he had brought
his wife out there from Kansas. At the time of my visit
she was back at the old home and had just written to

99

Trails Through the Golden West

Ad&m that she would be glad to get back to Arizona it
wan "so damp and green in Kansas P*

The Rio Puerco, which runs south of the railway at
Adamana, cuts off the visitor from the southern forests
except when the river is dry; hence the detour from
Wiaslow and Holbrook by motor. The Black Forest lies
to the north, however, and must be visited from Adam-
ana. A recent appropriation by the Congress, for the
construction of a bridge across the Rio Puerco, and
a new motor highway to the Rainbow Forest, will restore
Adamana to the greatness it boasted tinder the admin-
istration of Adam the First, who has long since gone to
his reward. May he rest in peace ! And when that work
is completed I shall doubtless make another trip to the
Petrified Forests if for no other reason than to honor
the memory of the veteran whom I knew in the good old
days.

It is worthy of note that, after having bid old Adam
goodbye, and reaching the flourishing cow-town of
Williams, a few miles farther west, where I expected to
find a full-grown branch railway running up to Grand
Canyon, sixty-four miles distant, I found instead a four-
horse stage. One night in Williams, mostly devoted to
inspecting the gambling dens and dance-halls char-
acteristic of the desert town of that day, was quite
enough. It was something of a novelty to see cowboys
walking the streets, belted and spurred, with "six-guns"
hanging almost down to their knees, and to learn how
fond they were of the turn of a card. It was my first
experience in a wide-open frontier town, and I was glad
to get away the next morning for the Canyon. The only

100

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

hotels on the Canyon rim In those days were tents, and
the drinking-water was brought all the way from Wil-
liams, "Bucky" O'Neill's cabin, like Bucky's reputation
as a member of Roosevelt's Rough Riders, was yet to
come. No one could have foreseen in those days that
Bucky would leave his bones In Cuba ; but a fine eques-
trian statue, In the plaza In the city of Prescott, shows
what Arizona thought of that dauntless spirit. For
Bucky was glued to his hoss if ever a rough-riding cow-
boy was ; a born adventurer, high-principled and with a
fine mind. No wonder Colonel Roosevelt loved him all
Arizona did.

It was on this my first real desert experience that I
learned how a man can go to bed at night with the
mercury ranging up in the nineties, and find ice in his
water-pitcher next morning. A change of 30 degrees
in temperature between mid-night and morning is com-
mon in the desert. Never shall I forget my first descent
of Bright Angel Trail on horseback. There was no
parapet on the trail in those days and there were lots
of places where the rider's knee scraped the inner wall
of rocky cliff, while a glance downward on the opposite
side, along the line of his stirrup, showed nothing but
space and plenty of it. Trail horses are cTjjious folk ;
they like to pause occasionally and look out over the
void, as though they would say to their uneasy riders :
"It's nothing, when you get used to It!" A rider just
ahead of me that day, however, didn't seem to appre-
ciate the actions of Ms Nature-loving mule, who had
stopped at a hair-raising turn in the traE to gaze off
into limitless space.

101

Trails Through the Golden West

blankety-blank son of a blankety-blank," I
heard him remark with some little asperity, "if you'll
just keep your blankety-blank eyes on the trail, I'll
attend to the scenery P*

On the way out from the Petrified Forests nobody will
offer any objection if you pick up a few fragments of the
brilliantly colored fossils which carpet those vast ex-
panses. The custodian, were he not governed by regula-
tions, would be perfectly safe in telling you that you
were welcome to all the fragments you could carry.
Their specific gravity of 165 pounds to the cubic foot
will make an honest man of the most voracious sou-
venir-hunter that ever lived. Incidentally, you will ap-
preciate precisely how a certain Denver capitalist must
have felt after he had formed a company -for the pur-
pose of commercializing those magnificent logs by hav-
ing them sawed into table-tops and polished for the
kawte <m&nde at $2500 each, only to learn that they
were as hard as the diamond-dust that was required to
cut them* not to mention their unsuspected weight. But
in general the simile of the red-hot stove that I quoted
would hold good here if it were not for the proclama-
tion of President Roosevelt in 1906, setting aside for
all time these 62,000 acres as a National Monument.

Before leaving Adamana don't fail to visit the Petro-
glyphs s those unusually fine specimens of ancient rock-
writings and drawings done by the primitive Indians
who peopled this strange country from five hundred
to a thousand years ago. All over this Southwestern ter-
ritory mav he found innumerable instances of the artis-
tic impulse through which these aborigines sought to

102

The Petrified Forests of Arizona

express themselves. Mostly thej are crude drawings in
ccher and white and red clays on the walls of canyons
and cliff-dwellings. The ones on the rocks near Adamana,
however, were etched as by a knife, and so, having with-
stood the sand-blasts of desert winds throughout the
centuries, are today as clean-cut and intaglio-like as
if they had been made yesterday. It is quite evident that
the ancient artists used instruments fashioned from the
diamond-hard petrified wood. Contrary to former opin-
ions of archeologists, it is known today that the work
has no historical value beyond indicating what class
of Indian folk they were and the flowers and animals
with which they were familiar. The Adamana rocks
represent the best work of the kind throughout the
Southwest and are well worth seeing and photographing.
Another of Nature's wonders may be come upon
within an afternoon's motor ride from Winslow : Meteor-
ite Mountain. Here earth and sky have conspired to
create a mystery that has baffled scientists and engineers
for many years. Viewed from a distance this so-called
mountain resembles a low ridge. When we approach
nearer, however, the ridge acquires a circular form and
rises from the desert 100 to 150 feet. Climbing to the
top of a vast extent of rock and rubble, the spectator
looks down into a tremendous hole 600 feet deep by
4000 in diameter. Precisely what caused this amazing
freak no scientist or geologist has ever learned. It is
generally believed, however, to have been created by a
monster meteor, the impact of which threw up the earth
Eke a huge circular wave around the spot where it dis-
appeared. Various mining companies have from time to

103

Trails Through the Golden West

time drilled the bottom of this great crater to a depth
of from two to three thousand feet in the expectation of
coming upon the meteor which, it is believed could be
salvaged to advantage. Up to date, however, it has
been time and money wasted. If, as some scientists be-
lieve, it continued to be a meteor after it struck the
earth, instead of becoming pulverized by the impact,
it seems to have buried itself beyond recovery. Others
think it may have made its flight in a long slant and
may be deeply lodged in the desert sufficiently distant
from the crater to make further search hopeless.

104

The Apache Trail

speaking 1 , the pragmatic hand of
man is not to be trusted to deal with Nature,
especially when commercial interests are involved. His
tendency is to paint the lily, to gildl refined gold. When
he approaches holy ground, instead of removing his
shoes he is likely to put on faobnailied boots in order to
show how practical they are. When he and his fellows
organize themselves into a public-service institution it
is only rarely that they can combine performance with
a due regard for natural beauty. Nfot even a landscape
architect can always be trusted to lest well-enough alone ;
he has been known to cut down a nolghty tree so as to
make room for formal greenery.

That the scenic glory of our Wcs t has been preserved
is largely because it has been easier here to do the thing
right than to do it wrong. Periapt the most eloquent
illustration is the world-famous. Apache Trail motor
highway, just as wildly beautiful mnd unspoiled today
as it was when only the moccasined feet of Indians trod
it. As a gloriously picturesque as well as practicable
motor-road through an otherwise almost inaccessible

105

Trails Through the Golden West

country of desert and mountain, it has no rival in
the United States. The feature that differentiates it from
every other notable highway in the world and I am
not forgetting the Amalfi Drive, the Engadine, or the
Tyrol is the Arizona coloring for which that State
is so famous ; an incredible brilliance of natural color-
ing along the roadside and in the valleys and on the
mountain slopes. It is as unique for its variety as for its
brilliance: bright reds, maroons, and pinks, limestone
white, browns, and bronze-green, to say nothing of the
ultramarine of the cloudless sky. Nowhere but in
Arizona has any traveler ever seen so rich a landscape,
because the pigments with which Arizona's canyons and
mountain walls are stained are not found anywhere else.
It has taken a cowboy artist to interpret Arizona his
own State to the world: Jack Van Ryder, who, lov-
ing his art perfervidly, loves Nature even more. Hence
Hs combination desert cattle-ranch and studio, near
historic Camp Verde, a former United States Army
post not far from the cliff dwelling called "Montezuma's
Castle," which is to be described in a later chapter.
He is the only artist who has had the courage to paint
Arizona in her real colors : wildly and primitively beauti-
ful, and correspondingly unconventional.

For the west-bound transcontinental traveler the
Apache Trail starts at Globe on the Southern Pacific
Railway; at this point a sleeping-car that was shunted
off the main line train at Bowie drops him just in time
for breakfast. Thence over the hills in a commodious,
open-top, high-powered motor-coach for 120 miles of the
most enchanting, breath-taking scenery imaginable. Ar-

106

The Apache Trail

riving at Phoenix at the end of the day, he rejoins his
sleeper and his baggage. That's how simple it is to
gain admission to one of the scenic pageants of the
whole world. The Amalfi Drive, beautiful though it is
as it follows the sinuous Mediterranean Coastline, pales
into comparative insignificance beside the Apache Trail.
For here are fire-tipped, serried, vermilion peaks looking
down on the canyon-impounded waters of four perfect
lakes, along which this serpentine Trail winds like a
fairy runway, only to mount nearly 4000 feet above them
when it climbs a mountain pass. Lakes that change color
with every shifting cloud that filters the flaming radiance
of an Arizona sun, lakes that are making spaces blos-
som like the rose. And the desert itself is not the least
interesting feature of the landscape when we remember
that its recorded history goes back to the middle of the
sixteenth century, and that long before that time it
was the home of a civilization so ancient that scientists
can only guess at its dates. There are indisputable evi-
dences of the progressive stages of this culture, evi-
dences that it passed through the buffalo-hunting period
to a stage when the people built their homes on the ledges
of almost inaccessible cliffs, and then developed into an
agricultural stage in which they built five-storied pueblos
or great apartment houses in the valleys. And their de-
scendants are the Pueblo Indians of today, whose sur-
viving customs are many centuries old. It is through this
kind of country that the Apache Trail will carry you, a
magic highway that rises and falls like an endless roller-
coaster.

Soon we leave behind us the hustling copper towns of
107

Trails Through the Golden West

Globe and Miami, with their tremendous smelters
towns that symbolize Arizona's mineral wealth and
begin the ascent to the summit of the Trail, from whose
lofty crest, 4000 feet above sea-level, we get a foretaste
of the beauty that lies before us. Below is spread a
panorama of desert glory on which we shall shortly be
training our cameras for a close-up. There are, luckily,
no announcers on these cars, so we will do a little point-
ing. The vast Tonto Basin, 2000 feet below, is now
filled with a superabundance of water, the lack of which
in the early days caused one of the longest and bloodiest
feuds ever known in the Arizona cattle industry ; a feud
that resulted in the extermination of all but one of the
men who remained in that tragic spot and insisted on
fighting for their water rights. And now that desert
valley, whose desperate aridness once resulted in the
shedding of almost more blood than there was water, is
filled today with the impounded waters of the Roosevelt
Dam, twenty-five miles long by two wide.

The Apache Trail is more than a highway; it is a
museum as well. It runs within a few hundred feet of one
of the most typical of the cliff dwellings, known as the
Tonto. When you see this overhanging cave, resembling
nothing so much as a bowl lying on its side, you will
have a good deal of respect for a people who realized the
necessity for self-preservation and, like the conies of
Holy Writ, built their homes in the rocks where they
could have an unobstructed view of the trail and could
roll a few boulders down on the invader. Note the method
of construction when you reach the cave, and realize that
these prehistoric folk had no metal tools of any kind,

108

The Apache Trail

nor any knowledge of masonry as we understand the
term. All they knew was how to break up stratified rock
Into small pieces, smooth off the rough edges by rubbing
them against other pieces, and then lay them up in an
orderly manner, with mud for mortar. You'll take your
hat off to their artisanship and wonder what sort of
plumb-line they can have used to insure such amazing
accuracy. Note the size of the doorways, also construc-
ted with the idea of repelling invaders and figure out in
your own mind how easy it was to kill *em off as fast as
they arrived. Having just one husky warrior stationed
with a club on the inside of each entrance was doubt-
less one of the first examples of Pueblo efficiency. When
you look at the posts and the beams with their well-
trimmed ends, remember that the work was done with
stone axes. Last of all, as you look from the mouth of
the cave to the depths of the valley below, just try to
picture what it meant for some member of the family
to go after water every day.

Motor-coach schedules call for an hour's stop-over
at these fascinating ruins; sixty minutes to inspect a
building and construction job completed anywhere from
a thousand to fifteen hundred years ago, with the oppor-
tunity brought practically to your very feet. You may
take off your hat to the builders of the Apache Trail
as well. If it were not for that bit of foresight, the
chances of your climbing up the face of a mountain in
order to have a peep into the interior of a cliff-dwelling
would be few and far between in summer-time in Ari-
zona. There's no question but that we have our sight-
seeing made to order for us in our great Southwest.

109

Trails Through the Golden West

Tm not certain that it wouldn't be a good thing if we
had to work a bit harder for it we might appreciate
it more.

As we approach Roosevelt Dam, about luncheon time,
the road rises and skirts a lofty cliff on the left, into
which one end of that huge structure is wedged, span-
ning the narrow mouth of a deep canyon that has been
hewn out of the living rock in the course of the centuries
by the combined action of the Tonto and the Salt rivers
which formed a confluence at that point. This immense
mass of masonry, the first unit of the great Salt River
Reclamation project, was built from the rough marble
taken from the lofty cliffs which it bridges. It is 284 feet
in height, with a foundation of 36 feet in bedrock, a
length of 210 feet at the bottom and 1125 feet at the top,
including a 16-foot roadway; dedicated by President
Theodore Roosevelt in March, 1911. A few hundred
feet from the far end of the dam, overlooking the lake,
stands Apache Lodge a rambling, home-like, two-
storied caravansary where we will have a bit of food and
then proceed on our way.

From Roosevelt Dam, west, the road drops quickly
to the original level of the river, which in its turn be-
comes Apache Lake, a picturesque body of water eight-
een miles long, formed from the overflow of Roose-
velt Lake and impounded by Horse Mesa Dam. The
surplus waters of Horse Mesa Dam become, in their
turn, Canyon Lake, which winds for ten miles through
a narrow, serpentine gorge* averaging 200 feet in width,
and hemmed in by brilliantly colored, serrated cliffs
rising on either side from two to three thousand feet

110

The Apache Trail

above the water. For sheer, stark, overwhelming beauty,
these towering mountain crags, splashed riotously with
color that is reflected in the water at their feet, are
without equal. Canyon Lake is a gem, but only a small
part of it can be seen from the roadway. How it may
be seen from end to end will be told later. From Mormon
Flat Dam, which impounds the waters of Canyon Lake,
there stretch away for an additional ten. miles the
damned-up waters of Saguaro Lake, which are held in
place by the newest and last dam of the series, Stew-
art Mountain.

Between the road and the shores of the lakes, every
variety of cactus may be seen, from the towering Sagu-
aro to the diminutive beginnings of a patch of NopaL
Transverse canyons break into the roadway from either
side, leading away up into the heights of the main range
and ending in blue haze. And color, color, color on every
hand. One does not quite realize, until he finds himself
in the desert, how prodigal of beauty Nature can be.
It would seem as if she said to the traveler, "If you
manifest enough interest in what I have to display, 1*11
open your eyes as they were never opened before. 55

Apparently the Trail has come to an end at the foot
of a mighty mountain of rock which owing to its pre-
cipitous character seems to be twice to three times
higher than it really is, You have been bowling along
through Fish Creek Canyon without realizing that you
are 2000 feet above sea-level. And when the car stops,
it isn't apparent that there is anything further to do
but turn around and go back. And then your eyes des-
cry a dim, hazy line, almost above your head, on the

111

Trails Through the Golden West

very face of the cliff, which seems to have neither be-
ginning nor end. About that moment the driver is calling
your attention to the incredible fact that this is the
continuation of the highway. While you are wondering
how any car can negotiate such a breath-taking stunt,
you are on your way across the bridge at the foot of
the Trail, and have started on your climb of a mile and
a half up the face of a precipice that rises a trifle over
a thousand feet from the floor of the canyon to the sum-
mit of the pass.

Then you see what a wonderful roadway it is hewn
out of the eternal rock, smooth as a floor, plenty wide for
cars to pass each other, and having several observation
points where the sightseer can stop and take it all in.
You note the easy grade ; the motor is on second speed
merely as a concession to your feelings. As you gain
the summit an overwhelming panorama meets your eye.

To primitive beauty is added the volcanic savagery
of an elder day. Fish Creek 1000 feet below winding
like a silver thread through the valley; the Walls of
Bronze off to the right, rearing their mighty bulk, shim-
mering in the slanting rays of the afternoon sun, and
in between a sunlit chasm through which the sinister
Apache raiders used to make their way westward in
the good old days when scalps were plentiful. A little
farther on and you may look down on a comparatively
level bit of going to the left of the road, and see a portion
of the original trail itself, where the rock has been worn
smooth by the tread of moccasined feet throughout
uncounted years. Take note, also, of a rough-looking
road leading off to the right, shortly alter leaving the

112

The Apache Trail

crest of the pass, because you will want to come back to
It at some future day. That Is the original highway over
which all the building material and equipment were
hauled for the construction of Horse Mesa Dam, in the
depths of the canyon two or three thousand feet below.
Leaving behind us these four picturesque lakes, the
combined waters of which will irrigate 250,000 acres of
desert land, we find ourselves, late in the afternoon,
approaching one of the most fascinating spots on the
whole Trail: Superstition Mountain, so called by
reason of the Apache belief that the place is haunted by
the spirits of former tribesmen who fought unavailing^
against the coming of the white man and the consequent
loss of their ancient lands, from which they were even-
tually driven. Superstition Mountain has a beautiful
setting, best seen in the afternoon, with the sentinel-
like giant Saguaro cactus casting its elongated shadows
over the desert at the mountain's foot. The mass is like
a truncated pyramid, the cliffs of which are eroded into a
myriad of strange formations resembling human beings.
The Apache belief is that these odd-shaped crags con-
tain the spirits of their ancestors and that the spirits
mil remain thus rock-bound until the country round-
about is returned to its original and rightful owners.
Meantime, no Indian will willingly go near Superstition
Mountain.

One of the novel bits of bird life along the Trail is the
long-legged, crested California Road-runner or chapar-
ral cock, which can outran a horse; it trots along the
highway lite a diminutive ostrich, just ahead of the car,
crest laid back, long, streamline tail stretched out Kks

113

Trails Through the Golden West

a rudder, all set to make that big motor look as if it
were standing still. When the bird learns what forty
miles an hour on a straightaway feels like, however, he
takes a sudden dive into the brush, crest up and very
cocky as if he might be saying: ''Well, I gave yon a
sample of what I can do ; now let's see you burn up the
road." He is a very attractive bird, part and parcel of
the desert and quite unafraid. Incidentally, he is the
rattlesnake's mortal enemy and quicker on the dodge
than the reptile is on the strike. His favorite method of
attack is to rush in before the snake can coil up for
another strike and with a few pecks of that heavy beak,
either blind him or break his neck. Now and again, a
short distance off in the cactus may be seen a curious
coyote, pausing for a moment to watch the passing of
the car ; but let the car come to a stop and he is off like
a shot. Br'er Coyote is the one desert animal never
caught napping.

Arrived in Phoenix, late in the afternoon, it becomes
a question in the traveler's mind whether he will rejoin
his train or make a stop-over* If you decide on the latter
you will probably elect to return over the Trail in the
opposite direction. This time it will be a good plan to
devote a day to a boat-trip on Canyon Lake, which will
take you ten miles up-stream to the very base of Horse
Mesa Dana, This is out of the question on the regular
run because there is no hotel at the lake. You can go
out in the morning, however, and return to Phoenix in
the afternoon on a regular motor-coach specializing in
that trip, You can get information about this at the
hotel. It is a feature of the Apache Trail that is as im-

114

The Apache Trail

portant as the complete trip itself ; there's nothing like
it anywhere in the country at large nothing to which it
may be compared. This beautiful canyon was the former
bed of the Salt River, a swift-running stream at certain
seasons of the year and practically dry at others. Fur-
thermore, there was no way of getting into it except
afoot and this was a hazardous undertaking. The im-
pounding of the waters, however, has added a touch of
exceeding loveliness and intimacy to an awe-inspiring
majesty that orginally served notice on the newcomer
that he advanced at his own risk.

If the old supply road down to the Horse Mesa Dam
is safe it will be a worth-while experience to engage some
thoroughly dependable driver who is familiar with it
to take you down. The road should be all right because
there is no other way of getting down to the dam for
repairs. It is not, however, a trip to be made on your
own responsibility, for obvious reasons. Nothing to
alarm you, but these exceptional experiences are re-
served for those who "travel hopefully. 5 * Incidentally,
it will be a field-day for your camera.

Another short side-trip which may be included with
either of these days is a brief visit to the down-stream
side of Mormon Flat 3>am, showing a continuation of
the gorge below Canyon Lake and a splendid view
overlooking the dam and the lake itself, as it backs up
between the lofty walls of the canyon. Indeed, after the
boat-trip and the descent to Horse Mesa Dam, this
gorgeous view is next in importance. In exquisite per-
spective it is the most satisfying of all four lakes, and

115

Trails Through the Golden West

again jour camera will be giving a good account of it-
self.

Still another approach to the Apache Trail is open to
the traveler who may be bound west from Tucson: a
motor ride north through the Santa Catalina Moun-
tains, over the Oracle Trail, following the canyon of
the Gila River (in places as sightly as anything in Ari-
zona), through the old-time copper mining towns of
Mammoth, Winkleman and Christmas. An hour may be
devoted to a visit to Coolidge Dam, the very latest
in dam construction and totally unlike any of the others
mentioned; it impounds the waters of the Gila River.
All this country is both historic and prehistoric in in-
terest. The cliff-dwellings in the Canyon of the Gila and
the atmosphere of those old mining towns, which hasn't
changed a whit in fifty years, add a mellowing touch to
this section of Arizona not to be found elsewhere. Un-
less you have thoroughly acquainted yourself with Ari-
zona's mountain roads, don't undertake any part of
the hundred-odd miles between Tucson and Globe in
darkness. There are some spots along that memorable
Gila River Canyon that, at an altitude of 2000 feet,
wiH make the cold chills chase one another up and down
your spine. From daylight to dark it is in a worth-
while class by itself, and a night at Globe will just
fit you for that incomparable 120 miles over the Apache
Trail the next day.

Atchison, Topcka and Santa Fe Ry.

The skill of the ancient cliff dwellers in constructing
their homes and strongholds is a constant source of
amazement to the traveler. This view shows Monte-
zuma*s Castle, one of the finest cliff dwellings of the

Southwest.

'Montezuma's Castle" and Casa Grande

THE scenic attractions in the vicinity of Phoenix,
not to mention the up-and-coming city itself, are so
many that you should get yourself a road map 5 which
the local automobile club will be glad to furnish. One
trip, at least, should not be overlooked : to Prescott by
motor-car for 113 miles over the famous Hassayampa
Trail. Prescott, Arizona's old-time capital, lies atop
the Sierra Prieta range, 5346 feet above sea-level and
over 4000 above the level of Phoenix. This is what is
known as the White Spar Road ; it crosses the Brad-
shaw and Sierra Prieta ranges at 40OO and 6025 feet
elevation, respectively. Halfway up the Bradshaws on
Yarnell Hill is Desert View, one of the finest desert pano-
ramas in aH Aiizona. And by the time you have reached
Prescott you will appreciate why they call it the "mile-
high city/*

Historically interesting and attractive though old
Prescott is, however, our real objectives lie beyond:
the famous cliff-dwelling, "Montezuma's Castle," and
the mysterious bottomless crater known as **Montezu-
ina's Well/* both within a few miles of C&mp Verde;

117

Trails Through the Golden West

and Arizona's great natural bridge at Pay son. This
takes us about one hundred miles the other side of Pres-
cott, the road passing through the copper-mining towns
of Jerome and Clarkdale: interesting examples of how
desert municipalities can be made to stick fast on a
sheer mountain-side at a 6000- foot elevation and how
folk manage to travel around in them without falling
off. In all, it makes a round trip of 350 miles, with the
return to Phoenix by the picturesque Black Canyon
road through the ancient desert towns of Dewey and
Humboldt, and is well worth the four or five days you
may wish to put in on a combination of desert and
mountain motoring. Your nights will be spent most
comfortably at a Prescott hotel and at Dave Goodfel-
low's ranch at Payson. You need not write any letters
to announce your arrival. Both places will be ready for
you. But unless you are accustomed to mountain driv-
ing you will do well to reach the ranch before dark*
for Dave and Mrs. Goodf ellow do not expect many night
arrivals ; but you will be very welcome. The mail stage
plies daily between Globe and Jerome, touching at
Goodfellow's enroute, and the road is good. If, however,
you come to this country by train, you will reach it by
the Santa Fe from either Phoenix on the south or Ash
Fork on the north.

Of the thousands of cliff-dwellings in southern Ari-
zona, the finest and most easily accessible is "Monte-
zuma*s Castle 5 * flamboyantly named many years ago
by somebody whose historical accuracy was weak. It is
a stately ruin lying fifty-five miles from Prescott in a
characteristic limestone wall 200 feet high in Beaver

118

**Montezuma's Castle" and Casa Grande

Canyon, a few miles beyond Camp Verde, the old-time
army post established to deal with the Apaches years
ago. The run is made over a highly interesting and scenic
road crossing Mingus Mountain at an elevation of 7720
feet. You will see the dwelling some time before draw-
ing near to it, in a deeply eroded cavity eighty feet up
from the base of the cliff, absolutely sheer. According
to archeologists it is not less than a thousand years old,
and shows five different periods of construction, The
building proper consists of five stories, with a total
height of fifty feet. Built in the form of a crescent sixty
feet wide and containing twenty-five rooms, with a wide
over-hang of the cliff above, it suggests a feudal castle.
Before its tenants could reach the first story they had
to climb eighty feet up the face of the cliff. This was ac-
complished by means of primitive ladders, extending
from ledge to ledge, which were hauled up every night
after the latest straggler had reached home. It is also
quite apparent that the material which went into the
construction of this ancient house the tons of rock, the
logs, the mud for making adobe must have been carried
up on the shoulders of the natives, who had no other
way of scaling the vertical cliff than by these ladders.
Following the architectural plan of all those ancient
dwellings, each story is **staggered 5> towards the rear,
like so many steps, the top story being so far back
under the overhanging cliff that it cannot be seen from
the foot. The reed and wattled roofs of each story are
practically intact, as well as the beams, which are ap-
parently as serviceable as ever, the ends of each having
been trimmed with a stone axe or burned smooth. Sooted

119

Trails Through the Golden West

roof and hearthstone tell their own story just as clearly
as if the last meal had been cooked within a fortnight. It
is amazing how well the dry air of the desert preserves
fabrics and woods.

When you have seen **Montezuma*s Castle" you will
have seen the most compact, dignified, and imposing cliff-
house in the Southwest. As a Xational Monument it is
kept in excellent condition, with stout ladders leading
to all floors for the use of the visitor. The view from
the top story out over the valley, through which runs
Beaver Creek along which these ancients did their sow-
ing and their planting, is richly worth the climb to the
very top, and offers many an opportunity for photogra-
phy. Here and there may be seen evidences of ancient
irrigation ditches that carried the waters of the Beaver
to their little vegetable patches. It is all quite pathetic
if one is inclined to be contemplative. They had so very
little, despite which they have left for the traveler an
objective so ancient, so hoary with departed centuries
that the American archeologist or antiquary need not
leave his own shores to indulge a hobby as consuming
as any to which Greece or Rome ever contributed.

Not far beyond "Montezuma's Castle," twelve miles up
Beaver Creek from its confluence with the Rio Verde,
lies one of those "bottomless'* vent holes which owing
to some subterranean supply has become filled with
water. It Is a huge sink, 200 feet in diameter by 80 feet
deep, known as "Montezuma's Well." As you follow the
trail you come upon one of those limestone hills which
are a part of the desert landscape all through Arizona,
the side of which was eaten away by the action of Beaver

120

^Montezuma's Castle" and Casa Grande

Creek In prehistoric times, leaving a picturesque cliff
approximately 100 feet high. When you reach the
summit of this supposed hill, however, you find yourself
looking down into a grim and forbidding chasm. You
have the feeling that in spite of the clear instructions
issued about the approach to this fearsome hole you
might have stumbled into it. You don't need to be told
that there is an underground abyss beneath. Confronted
by nearly vertical walls, you look for a trail down to
the water vainly, at first. There are two of them, how-
ever, and if your nerve holds good they are worth in-
vestigating. One leads down on the side nearest the
creek, where the action of the water has eaten it away,
leaving a narrow shoulder or partition between the
"well" and the outer rocky slope leading down to the
creek bottom. You can see the ruins of a former cliff-
dwelling on that uncertain-looking bridge, with hardly
sufficient room for one person to walk between its ancient
wall and the edge of the cliff overlooking the water. From
these ruins a steep but safe trail leads down to within
a few feet of the water's edge. And when you get down
there you espy two more dwellings hidden beneath over-
hanging cliffs, directly across the water from where
you are standing places that cannot be seen from above
with an appalling trail leading up to them on which
a goat could scarcely find a footing. You try first to
visualize the building of these veritable swallows* nests,
and then picture them inhabited by families. It is too
much, for an ordinary mind ; you are not quite convinced
of the reality of it all. Then your attention will be drawn
to a spacious cave at your b^tck, big enough, to hold a

121

Trails Through the Golden West

regiment. It is as dark as a pocket and you will need
a flashlight, but it will repay the time taken for investi-
gation.

Evidences of ancient occupation abound: partition
walls with the usual low door characteristic of this
ancient architecture ; mummified corncobs, broken stone-
hammers, flowing water beneath the cave floor. You
wonder if there was ever a time when these cliff-dwellers
were free from marauders. Surely nothing but the desire
for security could have dictated the selection of such
curious dwelling places. A final look at that gloomy body
of water as we retraced our steps left a cold chill, and I
wasn't at all surprised when told that a plumb had been
dropped to a depth exceeding 400 feet without touching
anything; so it would seem that the term "bottomless 5 !
is fairly appropriate.

Returning to Prescott for the night, you have all the
next day for an eighty-six-mile run to Arizona Natural
Bridge at Payson, by way of Camp Verde, with plenty
of time to reach Dave Goodfellow's ranch before dark.
This will give you all the next day to see the greatest
natural bridge in the world. Do not count on photo-
graphing it, except in spots you might as well point
your camera out of a hotel window and expect to get a
picture of the world.

As you cross the great gorge of Fossil Creek an almost
unbroken string of cliff-dwellings looks down from dizzy
heights to the water below. Bubbling mineral springs,
saturated with carbonate of lime, burst out with al-
most volcanic force, resulting in circular lime deposits
that look like huge white bowls, continually filling and

122

**Montesuma's Castle" and Casa Grande

emptying like great vats. On you go through solitary
Strawberry Valley and over the divide, where you get
your first glimpse of the Goodfellow ranch* Winding
in and out of the bush, by the time you arrive at the
ranch you will be glad that what you had to do was
done in daylight. A little rest after so strenuous a drive
will be in order, and then or maybe not till next morn-
ing you will be interested in a preliminary view of the
bridge. And here is where Dave Goodfellow has for years
been having his little joke; for the fact is that Dave's
ranch is on top of the bridge.

The first thing he will do is to take you into his five-
acre apricot orchard and lead you to a peep-hole down
through the earth at your feet, through which you may
look, as through a magic telescope, into the depths of a
wild canyon hundreds of feet below. It is uncanny. You
can hardly believe that a five-acre orchard is superim-
posed upon a 500-foot arch of rock, the under side of
which is 200 feet above the surface of the stream below;
or that the limpid pool immediately beneath is approxi-
mately 100 feet deep by 75 wide, and so transparent that
a white rock thrown in can be followed by the eye in its
descent to the very bottom,

Nowhere else in the world is there a better illustration
of the continual dropping that wears away the stone.
What has made this marvel is not wind nor sun, frost nor
rain nor flying sand nothing but the steady, unceasing
flow of this stream during long years. It is a fearful
thing to look down into or, for that matter, to look
up from when you get down to the bed of the stream.
Overhead, under the arch, the limestone is symmetrically

123

groined and ^ _*' : . * >- ^r r: * -stream as it
bored its way through. Consider how, in the infinitely
measured and merciless advance of centuries upon cen-
turies, this stream has chiseled a hole in the eternal rock
300 feet deep and 600 feet long, with an arch over all of
500 feet. In other words, that canyon stream has worn
away practically ninety million cubic feet of rock since it
started in to carve out the mammoth natural bridge of
the world.

The abutments of the bridge, so to speak, are honey-
combed with caves in which practically every forest
animal has at various times found refuge. Old Geronimo,
the Apache chief, concealed himself there when the
United States soldiers were scouring Arizona for him
back in the '90*s. Dave Goodfellow has built a series
of stout ladders up the cliffs for the especial benefit
of those who are athletically enough inclined to do some
underground investigating. Spectacular stalactites and
stalagmites abound, and remains of basket-work and
pottery done by cave-dwellers in the misty past. When
Goodfellow discovered this place years and years ago,
and located his ranch on it, it was as definite a bit of
exploration as if he had started out with that idea in
view. It is one of the show places of Arizona and opens
to the eyes of the visitor as wild and primitive a country
as he could ask to see.

The view up and down the canyon is extremely beau-
tiful. Its western wall is a colorful mass of splintered red
granite, sheering back, out of perpendicular, 1500 feet
above the stream. The eastern side is of gray limestone,
200 feet high, its walls almost overhanging. There is no

124

"Montezuma's Castle" and Casa Grande

quarter-section in the whole West to compare with Dave
Goodfellow's. He and his Scottish wife and his astonish-
ing ranch on top of a bridge they are in a class by them-
selves. For years Dave has been known as something of
a hermit suggesting Stevenson's "Will-o*-the-Mill. 5 *
Both he and his wife are outstanding examples of the
character that may be acquired by living close to the
earth a ripe and tolerant mellowness.

About thirty miles east of Phoenix on the Gila River
lie the interesting ruins of Casa Grande (Great House).
So far as is known, this is one of the earliest instances
where, as an apparent result of the cessation of hostili-
ties, a tribe of Indians deserted their cliff and cave dwell-
ings and took up their abode on the plain where they
could be near water and their crops. This ancient pile
was discovered by Padre Kino in 1694. He refers to it
in his diaries as a four-story building as large as a
castle. Archeologists state that it was surrounded by a
wall measuring 420 by 225 feet. The principal remains
are those of a watch tower, 40 by 60 feet in size, which
contained sixteen rooms, the smallest of them 10 by 24
feet. This watch tower enabled a sentinel to see for ten
miles in every direction, which would indicate that the
inhabitants were not taking any chances of an unex-
pected invasion. The first or ground story of this build-
ing is filled in solid, apparently to give a firm foundation
to the rooms, which begin on the second story. An irriga-
tion canal led from the pueblo to the river. The near-
est forests being seventy miles distant, it is evident that
the juniper and cedar timbers from which the ceilings
were made were floated down the Gila River to the

125

Trails Through the Golden West

village site, where they were hewed into shape with stone
axes. Many such axes have been found in the ruins,
along with some fine specimens of pottery and woven
fabrics which are on exhibition at a most creditable
museum established as a result of scientific excavation
since the Government set it aside as a National Monu-
ment.

Casa Grande's watch tower possesses one feature that
is unique in the construction of these ancient aboriginal
cities throughout the Southwest : a scheme that enabled
the inhabitants to calculate their calendar year. In the
eastern wall there is a hole drilled clear through the
four-foot-thick adobe about an inch and a half in
diameter; and facing it on an inner wall across a pas-
sage-way is another drilled hole. These two aligned
holes have an exact bearing of 85 degrees east. The cus-
todian told me that, according to the scientists, this is
the point on the eastern horizon where twice yearly there
is no variation in the sunrise. Apparently the aborigines
knew how to place the holes with such geometrical cor-
rectness that twice a year they were able to snare a sun-
beam that shone in straight through the outer hole and
into the hole in the opposite wall probably on the morn-
ings of March 7th and October 7th. Even to this day
the sunbeam entering from outside strikes within a
quarter of an inch of the center of the hole in the op-
posite wall.

Casa Grande, being close to the motor highway be-
tween Phoenix and Tucson, is easily reached ; also from
the Southern Pacific Station of that name. By all means
go and look it over. You may always be sure that a place

126

"Montezuma's Castle" and Casa Grande

that has been set aside by the National Government as
a monument or a reservation is eminently worth while.
The principal reason for this action is to protect a na-
tional beauty spot or a prehistoric ruin of inestimable
worth from commercial exploitation, in the first place,
and in the second from that unspeakable vandalism in
which so many travelers indulge in the name of souvenir-
hunting. Nothing but the eternal vigilance and creative
instinct of such thoroughly patriotic and public-spirited
men as the late Stephen T. Mather, who put so much life
into the administration of our National Parks and so
much of the fear of God into those rapacious advocates
of their commercial spoliation in Washington, has pre-
served these precious heritages for our benefit and pos-
terity^.

127

Imperial Valley and the Salton Sea

FOR the leisurely traveler who likes to explore out-
of-the-way places in search of the unusual, there
is a curious spot on the Arizona desert not far from
the Mexican line, about twenty-five miles south of
Wellton on the Southern Pacific. It is known as "Tina-
jas Altas," a Spanish term for a mountain water sup-
ply meaning "high tanks." Tanks such as these are in-
valuable, but they are few and far between in the Mexi-
can and Arizona desert. They are found from twenty-
five to a hundred feet up the cliffs, generally in a de-
pression or hole in the granite where water from the
last rain collected and remains drinkable and cold for
months afterwards. They are, in fact, the sole water sup-
ply for hundreds of miles, and the amazing thing about
them is that the process of evaporation is so slow and
that they keep so cool and drinkable. Their discovery
goes back into the distant past. They were known to
some of the forty-niners, who wandered off the trail to
California not far away and who were fortunate enough
to save their lives by the discovery* The graves of those
who were out of luck may be found at the foot of the

128

Imperial Valley and the Salton Sea

cliff, on the partially smooth surface of which some
crude lettering is yet visible, indicating the last rest-
ing place of the gold-hunter who either lost his way or
thought to make a short-cut to the diggings.

Wellton is a desert town 275 miles west of Phoenix,
where a stop-over can be arranged and some one found
who will undertake the drive. The road is an unusually
attractive trail straight south over the desert, wind-
ing about through the pungent-smelling greasebush,
mesquite, palo verde tree, and ironwood. On the right
the Gila range keeps the pilgrim company. At a very
picturesque bend in the range, in a big hollow lying
to the right of the road at the base of the mountains,
worn out by ancient storms and now somewhat over-
grown with mesquite, the tanks may be found. An ideal
spot for a camp. A few yards back from your camp
site, in the very first rise of the granite from the sandy
base, will be found the first hole, about ten feet in
diameter and as many deep. About 150 feet up, on a
shoulder worn by a very ancient water-way leading
down from the pass, will be found the other, a shallow,
dish-like spot beside a tremendous boulder, that was
long ago dislodged by some earth tremor from the ser-
rated ridge above. The scenery is grand and rugged and
the climb to the top quite easy. Indeed, the trip offers
splendid returns for the time expended, outside of the
novelty of the quest. A fairly early start from Wellton
will bring you to the spot in the forenoon, and the after-
noon can be well employed in climbing the ridge and
getting a few strange photographs, including a glori-
ous sunset.

129

Trails Through the Golden West

Somewhere south of Wellton is supposed to lie the
famous "Lost Mission," another monument to the inde-
fatigable industry of Padre Kino. It is believed to have
been built in the vicinity of where the Sonoita River
plays out in the desert, and the records which the good
padre left behind refer to it. An interesting exploration
awaits some ambitious investigator with a disposition
to make a friend of the desert. She is a harsh mistress,
however, to those who take too much for granted. She
also has a way of keeping her secrets from those who
are unwilling to give the necessary hostages.

To the wanderer with an adventurous turn of mind
there is an intensely interesting motor road from San
Luis, Mexico, across the Colorado River from Yuma,
extending easterly for about 4*00 miles over the desert,
through the towns of Caborca and Altar and thence
to Santa Ana on the Southern Pacific in Mexico. This
road was built by ex-Governor Rodriguez, of Lower
California, during the latest Mexican revolution, for the
purpose of transporting troops. It passes through some
of the most terrifying yet beautiful waste land I have
ever seen. That Mexican desert is pitted with magnifi-
cent and fearsome extinct volcanic craters. 'The whole
landscape, if such a term may be used, is composed of
black sand, with miles and miles of coal-black lava es-
carpments rising from the desert from 100 to 4000
feet. Notwithstanding the rigorous possibilities of such
a journey, it would be immensely worth while because
of the absolute novelty of the experience. It is no trip
to make with a single car, however, or with but one com-
panion. But with a party of four in two cars (which

130

Imperial Valley and the Salton Sea

should be the minimum) it would yield great returns
different from anything else in the vast Southwest.

Continuing our journey westward : you probably have
heard that ancient wheeze about the summer temperature
of Yuma: how a soldier who had been stationed at that
torrid post, having died and gone to hell, asked Satan's
permission to return to Yuma for his blanket. But there
are other points about Yuma that are really to her
credit, two in particular. First, the remarkable accom-
plishments of the U. S. Reclamation Service in this place,
in turning the waters of the Colorado River into a vast
series of irrigating canals. Next, Yuma is a division
point on the Southern Pacific, which permits the traveler
to enter California by way of Carriso Gorge and the city
of San Diego. Thence he can either take the Santa Fe
route up the Pacific Coastline to Los Angeles, or he can
motor across the Coast Range to El Centro and continue
his journey west by rail or motor through the Colorado
desert, now known as Imperial Valley, over a concrete
road. He will make no mistake in either choice. But he
will make a mistake if he fails to acquaint himself with
Carriso Gorge. There is not, so far as I know, in the
United States a 220-mile, seven-hour railway trip that
offers such an inspiring combination of desert and moun-
tain scenery as this Carriso Gorge route.

You should leave your Pullman berth at El Centro
shortly after 5 A.M., and watch the gradual and steady
rise of the train from the desert floor of Imperial Valley,
287 feet below sea-level, to a height 3600 feet above.
This amazing railway runs practically on the sky-line
at its highest point, 900 feet above the bottom of the

131

Trails Through the Golden West

gorge itself, through which in the old days the pony
express used to carry the mails. It follows the serpen-
tine course of the crest of the range, overlooking the
gorge, for eleven miles ; and in order that the roadbed
for these eleven miles might be properly anchored seven-
teen tunnels were bored through the solid granite, and
numerous bridges and trestles were thrown across other-
wise impossible canyons, where the road clings to the
precipitous cliffs and rounds hair-raising points with
a nonchalance that seems a little inconsistent with a
construction cost of $350,000 per mile for that eleven
miles alone. A wondrously scenic and rugged trip which
no traveler should miss.

He who elects to follow the desert route from Yuma
west is not without his reward. It may not be known
to him that the train is speeding over the bottom of
a prehistoric inland sea, familiarly known in the days
of our youth as the Colorado Desert, a dreaded waste-
land lying below sea-level between the Coast Range and
the Sierra. Irrigation has altered all that, however, and
long ago the Colorado Desert changed its name to the
Imperial Valley, with dver 600,000 acres under culti-
vation, one of the greatest and most productive agricul-
tural areas in the world, supporting a population of
over 50,000. If you will observe the upper portion of
the rocky escarpments rising several hundred feet above
the level of the roadbed you will see the ancient water
line, clearly marked, after the flight of thousands of
years.

The basin occupied by the "Salton Sea" a body of
water 80 miles long by 20 wide and 100 feet deep be-

132

W -y'4

if,^

/ '''fe >' , . 'f t ( . 'rq.

' ' II < ' '*

^^Tj

\ V <i ,-A ^M" 4 '*

1 ' * i A ' ' ' t

-P QJ

' ft;)'"' '^i'''^'' 1 '

iiV I*''' -i*

trf

''" vf, .

r ( ' v j

/f:li

S^

pU

,1 VH^I

t' j f

^ CJ

ill

i .Vi-n?^,

":".-' ->

'5 cj

SC/3

* ' /f '"' J

', ; f f

-u

;i ^

1 , ' 1 #

oS fl

1 L *!''

o;

'V ^

,.' A",

( V !

' : :iT^'

'^u.

" 1
'&

';' ^'tfM'l

iH rH

'"V 1 * ' ! ,

'!', *"S. t i "1 ',

W "H

<f-'> ' , ''S'^ '

o; <D

^""-t :

H!, ' i ,
( ' [i f,

v

1

^

".'.: $'

OJ

"S T3 S

.'. K

'S

0) JH H

I-H 3 o

w "g

M<ntUn-

San Diego, California, lies amidst picturesque hills
and valleys. This view of Carriso Gorge, not far from
San Diego, indicates the type of scenery that; awaits
the horseback rider and the hiker.

Imperial Valley and the Salton Sea

side which the train runs was once the head of the
Gulf of California, into which the Colorado River empties
about 100 miles further south. In the course of time,
the amount of silt deposited by the river formed a dyke
clear across the Gulf which, eventually rising higher
than the level of the water, created a vast inland sea ;
and this sea eventually, through evaporation, became
a salt bed. In 1906, the old river went once more on the
rampage, broke through the dyke which it had formed
in previous centuries, and for two years poured its entire
volume into the Salton Sea depression, before it was
brought under control by the Southern Pacific Railway
engineers, and finally diverted into the Gulf. It is only
a question of time when this great lake will evaporate
and return the rich soil at its bottom to the Imperial
Valley farmers.

It may heighten the interest of your ride through Im-
perial Valley to know that you are passing through a
vast hollow in the slopes of the Sierra Nevada, one of
those tremendous prehistoric sinks into which scores
of mountain streams, fed by the lofty glaciers and snow-
fields of the High Sierra, flow and are absorbed. The
Coast Range on your left rises to its highest altitude
in the noble peaks of San Jacinto, 10,800 feet above
sea-level; San Gorgonio, 11,485; and San Bernardino,
10,630 feet. There is a total lack of verdure on the
desert slopes of the range, whereas the western or ocean
slopes are forest-covered.

Passing through the little date-raising town of Indio
in the Coachella Valley, you may see some odd-shaped
stone figures near the station ; life-like effigies of a mother

133

Trails Through the Golden West

and babe, goose and goslings, and so on. These peculiar
formations were come upon a few years ago, during
excavation work, and are estimated to be not less than
12,000 years old. They are a worth-while shot with your
camera.

The Imperial Valley desert will not be at all like your
preconceived ideas of desert land. Nothing here to re-
semble the Sahara of your school-geography days. And
anyhow, they don't call it a desert any more, since it
has yielded so bountifully to irrigation. What you will
see, however, will be a vast extent of the creosote or
"greasebush," Spanish bayonet, and cactus. And though
the last thing you would think of here is the successful
cultivation of fruits, vegetables, and alfalfa, fresh water
has ma4 that barren district blossom like the rose, in
very truth, and it won't be many years before there
will be no desert visible to the eye. It will all be under
cultivation.

184

14

Death Valley California's Somber Mystery

ONE of the strangest natural phenomena in the
West is that the lowest and the highest spots in
the United States are practically across the street from
each other. Death Valley 280 feet below sea-level, lies
shrouded in mirages and surrounded by extinct vol-
canoes, only seventy miles distant from Mount Whitney,
the loftiest and most spectacular snow-crowned peak
in the High Sierra : 14,500 feet above sea-level.

It would be difficult to imagine a more complete
antithesis than has been created by the Sierra Nevada
between the territory lying on its eastern slopes and
that lying on its western. This magnificent mountain
range, 430 miles long and from 40 to 80 miles wide, is
the greatest in the United States, comprising nearly as
much territory as the Italian, Swiss, and French Alps
combined. A cross-section of its western slope would
show (roughly) an elongated right-angled triangle
with its inclined plane of from 30 to 70 miles in length
extending to the Pacific Coast. Of the total area of this
vast plane, constituting the Great Valley of California,
more than one third, or nearly 3000 square miles, is

185

Trails Through the Golden West

less than 100 feet above the level of the sea. By the
time the vapor-laden winds from the Pacific Ocean have
rolled to the crest of the Sierra, 14,000 feet high, they
become chilled and discharge their vapor, in either rain
or snow, practically all of which descends on the western
slopes of the range and is returned to the California
lowlands in the form of mountain streams.

Looking eastward from thfe crest of the Sierra, how-
ever, there is no inclined plane. Generally speaking it is
an extended cliff from 8000 to 11,000 feet in height,
at the foot of which lie the vast sagebrush plains and
alkaline deserts of the Great Basin region of Nevada
and Utah, which extends as far east as Great Salt Lake
and of which Death Valley is a part. Although these ex-
tensive desert plains lie from 3000 to 6000 feet above
sea-level and are crisscrossed with mountain ranges from
10,000 to 13,000 feet in height, they are cut off from
the friendly vapor-laden winds of the Pacific Ocean
by the lofty Sierra, with the result that the streams
that descend the eastern slope are absorbed in the alka-
line sinks or lakes in which the Great Basin abounds and
which are subject to constant evaporation.

If it had not been for the discovery, about fifty years
ago, that these alkaline desert lakes contain an inex-
haustible supply of borax, soda, and kindred products,
it is quite possible that Death Valley might have re-
mained Death Valley in fact, instead of becoming famous
as one of the most salubrious, healthful, and interesting
winter playgrounds on the Pacific Coast. It has two
modern hotels and is accessible by both rail and motor
roads from Los Angeles, a matter of 300 miles.

136

Death Valley California's Somber Mystery

To those with an interest in geology it may be inter-
esting to know that Death Valley is the sink of the
Amargosa River, having got its start between fifteen
and twenty millions of years ago, at the time when the
Panamint and the Funeral Ranges, which today border
the valley on the west and east with lofty hurdles of
10,000 and 7000 feet each, were just pushing their
noses through the sand of the surrounding desert. A
few millions of years later, it seems, this hook-shaped
gorge, approximately 130 miles long by 6 to 14 wide,
faulted, with the result that it was converted into an
admirable drainage sink for the surrounding country,
and in time this sink became a sizable lake. Then, as now,
evaporation was a large factor and as the lake went dry
from time to time, the chemical residuum left became
the basis of the soda ash and borax for which Death
Valley and all the depressions in that vast terrain have
been commercially exploited for upwards of a half-
century.

Before the curtain was dropped on this vast drama,
the ocean flowed in and what is now known as the Great
Basin became the bottom of the sea for a few millions of
years. As if there were not sufficient antiquity in "fif-
teen to twenty millions of years" the geologist will point
out to you today certain interbedded strata of rock in
the Funeral Range, not far above the level of the lake
that once filled Death Valley, which are believed to date
back more than four hundred millions of years. After
all, it is not so surprising that in the finals the old
valley elected to remain permanently 280 feet below
sea-level. Certain it is that in no other spot in the west-

137

Trails Through the Golden West

era hemisphere may be found such a prodigal combina-
tion of highly colored mountain peaks, awe-inspiring
gorges, death-dealing deserts, and alkali plains. Ser-
pentine canyons in granite and marble, exquisitely
eroded by prehistoric cloud-bursts and mountain tor-
rents that ran dry millions of years ago; towering
cliffs banded in rose and gold and bronze green that
once were part of the bottom of the sea ; warm granites
shot through with the menacing blacks and browns
of ancient lava-flows ; the grays and whites of quartz
and limestone; winding streams of alkali so lovely to
the eye that you will find it impossible to credit their
deadliness; daintily modeled sand-dunes, the delicate
tracery of which is changed hourly by the variation of
the wind : gold and silver-lead mining districts of fabu-
lous value, where the grizzled prospector with his di-
minutive burro may still be encountered in his search
for some "lost mine."

To have negotiated the mountain passes that sepa-
rate Death Valley from the crowded highways connect-
ing the municipalities by which it is comparatively
hemmed in ; to have discovered from the mile-high crest
of the Panamint Range the outlines of a crater prac-
tically filling the width of the valley itself, through
which you may have driven a dozen times without ap-
preciating its character; to have witnessed the birth
of a mirage so disconcerting as to make you believe
you had lost your way ; to have watched the progress
of a sand-storm, knowing you were out of its path;
these are experiences that are to be enjoyed only in one

138

Death Valley California's Somber Mystery

spot Death Valley and they are richly worth travel-
ing far to see.

Here is one place utterly immune to the lily-paint-
ing and gold-gilding tendencies of the hand of man.
He may strive as he will for the civilizing touch
his limit consists in the construction of roads and
hotels where the visitor may be made thoroughly com-
fortable. This has been well done. But the valley, for-
tunately, remains just as it probably was ten thousand
years ago and as it will be, doubtless, ten thousand
years hence. Apparently menacing yet beautiful and
winning, with all the infinite glory of shifting cloud and
dazzling sunshine touching flame-tinted peaks and
ranges, glorious cliffs of brilliant pink sandstone,
against whose foot are lodged huge banks of powdery
clay tinted with barbaric gold; with volcanic buttes
striped black and yellow, rising from the plain like
threatening jungle animals; Death Valley sits at the
gate like some inscrutable goddess, at the foot of the
last descent of Emigrant Pass, where the dark lava-
flows of the Panamints merge with the beaten gold of
the sand-dunes to welcome and to warn. You can al-
most hear her warning accents : Nemo me imptme laces-
sit (Nobody injures me with impunity).

Commercial enterprise may build gold-camps, boom
towns, and railroads, may drill wells and mine-shafts
and lay out airports for the aviators. All of these Death
Valley will assimilate; and in exchange she will offer
the traveler the mirage, the cactus, the greasebush,
the yucca palm, the chuckwalla, and a riot of spring
flowers and make him like them all. He will like them

139

Trails Through the Golden West

because they astonish him so much, and because they
are so different from any other kind of scenery he has
ever looked on. And meanwhile she will continue to
hypnotize the prospector with her lure of gold, of which
untold riches are yet to be taken from her mountain-
sides and her hidden canyons.

Transportation here has been reduced to simplicity.
During the winter season the Southern Pacific runs a
sleeper two or three times a week to the little town of
Lone Pine in the Owens Valley at the foot of Mount
Whitney. At Lone Pine the traveler will be met by a
motor-car from Stovepipe Wells Hotel, where he will
arrive in time for luncheon next day. The Union Pacific
runs a similar train, the traveler being met at Death
Valley Junction at the southern end, arriving at Fur-
nace Creek Inn by motor, also in time for luncheon.
Despite the advantages of these railway connections,
the traveler who is not rushed for time will do well
to consider the motor-car trip by daylight. Varied and
highly interesting scenery is spread out before your
eyes as you ride over the excellent roads of the famous
Mojave Desert. There is a regular daily motor-coach
connection with Lone Pine a very comfortable ride
of 220 miles. On the other hand, if you drive your
own car you will find the roads good, easy to follow,
and well-posted by the Automobile Club of Los Angeles ;
from this club you can obtain the latest information.
Incidentally, it has posted Death Valley as well. You
couldn't lose yourself if you tried.

The preferable way for the visitor to see Death
Valley properly is to enter it from the north end and

140

Death Valley California's Somber Mystery

leave by the south, or vice versa. This can be done
only if he motors and is in control of his own time.
The two hotels in the valley Stovepipe Wells at the
northern end and Furnace Creek Inn at the southern
specialize in the attractions of their respective locali-
ties. There is such a wide diversity between the scenic
values of each end, however, that unless the traveler
avails himself of both he simply "short-changes" him-
self.

A word concerning nomenclature. The names Stove-
pipe Wells and Furnace Creek Inn always seem to con-
note to the visitor something different from their real
meaning. ''Stovepipe Wells" derives from the fact that
for many years the only source of water supply in that
section of the valley was a well dug by the early pros-
pectors, about two miles from the present location of
the hotel of that name. It contained then, and it still
contains, very brackish water; but it was none the less
a life-saver. A stovepipe was stuck in the sand by its
side as a marker, since the trail to it was covered most
of the time by wind-blown sand. A few feet from it half-
buried in the sand, is an old dug-out constructed of
mud-mortar and whiskey bottles, which served as a
temporary haven for passing prospectors and cheered
them on their way. Furnace Creek Inn takes its name
from the fact that in the late *50's some Mexican miners
built reduction furnaces in that location; the phrase
has no reference to summer heat.

One can put in a week to ten days in the Valley see-
ing what is to be seen at both ends and not waste an
hour. Indeed, he can scarcely do it thoroughly in less,

141

Trails Through the Golden West

It is the last place in the world to hurry through. Don't
overlook the fact that Death Valley is below sea-level
a fact that will be forced on you if you overdo, even
though the mercury is quite normal. It is not wise to
attempt the run from Los Angeles to the Valley in one
day. You will find that the Los Angeles motorists don't
do it. A run of 300-odd miles is a trifle too much for
one day through desert country ; it would mean that
you would reach the Valley in the dark if, indeed,
you got there at all and you would be "all in" the
next day. Assuming that you select the westerly route,
you leave Los Angeles by way of San Fernando and
travel through picturesque Mint Canyon to Mojave
Junction, where a good luncheon may be gotten at the
railway station; the entire trip is over concrete high-
way. Then north from Mojave over the desert a splen-
did road and through Red Rock Canyon, where you'll
want to stop for a bit of photography and a sight of
some beautiful and bizarre color effects in erosion, par-
ticularly "the lady at the organ" at the summit of the
cliffs on the left. Before reaching Little Lake, about
mid-afternoon, note particularly a vast field of un-
broken lava, stretching away eastward as far as the
eye can see, and terminating in a tremendous lateral
cliff from 100 to 150 feet high, along which the road
runs for several miles. This gigantic flow is so all-
inclusive that it is become part of the landscape and
if you are not looking for it you may miss it altogether.
If you will follow up with your eye the course of the
flow northward, to the right of the road, you will see
the extinct volcano itself and the broken lip of the

142

Death Valley California's Somber Mystery

crater over which that Vesuvian discharge descended
to the plain below. I have never come across any men-
tion of this tremendous volcanic outburst sufficient to
have buried a town and it was by sheer accident that
I noticed it. It is quite characteristic of the Mojave
Desert, which is dotted with the craters of extinct vol-
canoes a fitting introduction to Death Valley. About
5 P.M. you come to the end of your day's trip, in
the little old mining town of Lone Pine, having done
220 miles quite enough for one day's travel.

Immediately opposite, pushing its mighty crest 14,-
500 feet into the air, looms Mount Whitney snow-
crowned monarch of the High Sierra: a noble and in-
spiring sight, less than thirty miles distant. Close at
hand are the "ruins 55 of a mountain range, running
parallel to the Sierra, known as the Alabama Range:
pronounced by geologists one of the most ancient land-
marks in the whole world, antedating the High Sierra
by millions upon millions of years. Through the passing
eons it underwent steady disintegration as the Sierra
steadily rose above it.

What is even more important just now, however,
is the attractive, homelike little Hotel Dow where you
are going to spend the night, taking your meals in a
restaurant across the way. It may be you will en-
counter a belted, spurred, and fully armed cowboy
on the street a reincarnation, as it were. Never mind
he's just a movie actor. Lone Pine is a favorite "loca-
tion" with the Hollywood folk. You will see stuff for
sale in the Lone Pine stores mining, riding, and cattle
equipment that you thought went out of style fifty

143

Trails Through the Golden West

years ago. But no, the real folk of that quiet little
town in Owens Valley are much the same as they were
years ago, while the town itself, clothed in its ancient
cottonwoods, under the shadow of "Old Whit/' has
grown as mellow as a big red apple.

Right after breakfast the next morning take a
camera shot at Mount Whitney, with his gleaming sum-
mit scintillating in the refulgent rays of the rising
sun. You are off then for an eighty-mile spin over the
Argus and the Panamint Ranges, reaching Stovepipe
Wells Hotel, on the floor of the Valley at the foot of
Townsend Pass, in time for luncheon. This is the his-
toric trail, reaching its highest elevation at 5000 feet,
over which the surviving Jayhawkers of *49 found
their way out of Death Valley, enroute for the Cali-
fornia goldfields, leaving behind them the bones of
their less fortunate companions ; we shall tell more
of this later. The first half of the run, about forty
miles, follows the eastern shore of Owens Lake, a few
miles south of Lone Pine. Only, it isn't a lake any more.
It is one of those bottomless chemical sinks from which
quantities of soda are mined today, into which the
Owens River, one of those glorious streams from the
summit of the Sierra, used to empty before the city
of Los Angeles took the river over for a much-needed
water supply. You may see the huge pipe through
which it flows winding its sinuous way along the slopes
to which it is anchored, a few hundred feet above the
level of the highroad.

Passing through an extensive growth of Joshua trees
or yucca palm, and breasting a rise, you will see the

144

Death Valley California's Somber Mystery

little mining town of Darwin on the desert, almost like
a mirage. This time, however, it is real, and you will
stop here long enough to look over your gasoline and
water tanks. You would scarcely credit the reports of
the millions of dollars' worth of silver-lead that Darwin
has given the world. Today, however, the little town is
at a standstill and the motorist is its best customer.
The road enters the Argus range through a natural
"wash" or canyon, turns and twists and climbs to the
pass and down the other side into the Panamint Valley,
across a playa or dry lake, from which your real
climb starts. Here is where a man had a vision and built
a roadway, a few years ago, in order that Death
Valley's northern end might be opened to the public.
He has done a mighty good job; the Eichbaum Toll
Road, thirty-four miles long, is all the monument he
needs.

145

15

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

"A RRIVED at Stovepipe Wells, you will find that the
-*"** trip up the winding road through the famous Emi-
grant Pass to the summit of the Panamint range affords
one of the most inspiring views that you have yet seen in
the Southwest. From this lofty lookout a magnificent
sweep of the snow-capped High Sierra, sixty miles to the
west, fills the eye almost as completely as if it were
within a dozen miles of you. Mount Whitney towers
majestically above its neighboring peaks. At your
feet, more than a mile below, lies Death Valley itself
a mere dish, as it were, filled with glistening sand,
from which the sun's rays are reflected with a sharp-
ness evident even at that great height. As you gaze,
the sand-dunes below take form and you may descry
the road leading across the valley to the heights of
the Funeral Range to the east. Words are inadequate
here.

Amazing Grotto Canyon awaits you with its tortu-
ous granite gorge leading two miles hack into the Very
heart of the Panamints to the point oi origin a fifty-
foot well, some fifteen feet in diameter, worn out of

146

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

the rock by a prehistoric waterfall, at whose crest is
lodged a huge boulder. Spectacular Titus Canyon, too,
cut 2000 feet through the granite range, with a gravelly
roadway on the desert level forty feet wide. It is nine
miles long and its walls have been polished smooth
by the sand-laden cataracts of ages. Great boulders
have been lodged by cloudbursts in holes in the walls
fifty feet above your head.

You surely won't miss visiting "Death Valley
Scotty's" two-million-dollar castle in the Grapevine
Range, forty miles up the desert from Stovepipe Wells :
the strangest fancy that any man ever indulged, rival-
ing Beckford's "Vathek." It is a two-story Spanish
creation, now in its third stage. That is to say, in the
course of six years it has been almost completed twice,
then pulled down because something didn't suit, and
started all over again. No, Scotty isn't crazy as a
matter of fact, he spends most of his time in his rough
board shack, sleeps on an army cot, and does his own
cooking. That's what he loves. The castle is his play-
thing and a marvelous one at that, with a carillon
tower ; a ten-thousand-dollar pipe organ ; beautifully
carved furniture covered with leather especially im-
ported from Spain; a priceless mosaic fountain of
semi-precious stones in a recess in the living-room wall,
over which the water flows in a filmy cataract, gor-
geously tiled bathrooms ; exquisitely carved redwood
panelings throughout the house; wrought-iron grill-
work in old Spanish designs that would drive an
antiquary mad with envy; open Oriental conduits in
the cellar, filled with running spring water to keep

147

Trails Through the Golden West

the place cool in hot weather; and a beautiful vine-
covered patio, open-roofed and tiled with terra cotta
brought from Spain. Most significant of all is a steel
tube through the wall, beside the front door, terminat-
ing in a thick, concave steel cap on the outside, es-
pecially curved to cover effectively any intruder stand-
ing at the doorway. There's a lot more to tell about
Scotty but I shall tell it elsewhere. This will suffice
to explain the "comether" that hovers about Death Val-
ley Ranch.

When at Scotty's you are only seven miles from
Ubehebe Crater, one of the most spectacular extinct
volcanoes in the Southwest, with the brilliant marks
of the fire still visible on its scarred walls. Ubehebe is
800 feet deep by 800 feet in diameter at the bottom,
over a mile in diameter at the top, and exceeding three
miles in circumference. The crater is set in the top
of one of the many hills common at the northern end
of the Panamint Range, 5700 feet above sea-level. You
can drive your car almost to the very edge of it. But
beware of the boisterous gale characteristic of the
spot, and make your approach with care; a human
body offers little resistance to that husky breeze, and
you might easily be carried off your feet. The f our-f eet-
on-the-level of black, volcanic sand spread over the
desert and mountain-sides for miles around is an elo-
quent reminder of what happened on the day Ubehebe
blew the lid off, about five hundred years ago. By this
time you will have spent at least four days at Stove-
pipe Wells,

There are several interesting features of the valley

148

H

S ^

O> <~i
02 E

HH Tl

O "^

CO K*"i

0) 42

K*

3 TJ

fe oj

8

cu
P

s

fl

fl

Oj'

(/J

fl

O

H fc

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

proper that Stovepipe Wells and Furnace Creek have
in common. One is the beautiful and ever-changing
sand dunes. To see them at sunrise and sunset is to
build an ineffaceable memory for which you will al-
ways be grateful. In this vast expanse the vagaries
of the wind are extremely freakish. You visit Death
Valley one year and have your attention called to a
mountainous dune, etched into a thousand arabesques
by the wind you return the next year to find that the
wind has changed its mind, picked up the dune, and
carried it off, leaving in its place a stark, tall, denuded
yucca-palm trunk, around which it had originally built
the big dune. A similar process holds with the innumer-
able bunches of greasebush and sagebrush nearby, look-
ing like nothing so much as a vast field of stacked
cornstalks, around which the sand is insidiously gather-
ing and which it will eventually bury. Running true to
type here as elsewhere, it is called the "Devil's Corn-
field," and it looks the name. One interesting feature of
these stacked "cornstalks' 5 is the refuge they offer the
little kangaroo rat whose fairy-like trails may be seen
in all directions, especially in the early morning hours
before they are covered by wind-blown sand. These
little folk, along with the fieldmice, do their rollicking
at night, with a marked preference for the full of the
moon. Sometimes the imprint of an owl's talons, with
every indication of a scuffle, tells the story of a tragedy
as clearly as though it had been written.

Another satanic dominion is the "Devil's Golf Course"
lying about midway between the two hotels, which
are separated by only twenty-five miles. This is a

149

Trails Through the Golden West

strange sight: a vast expanse of white, crystallized
chunks of crude salt, left as the result of evaporation
from the chemically impregnated liquid sink beneath
and resembling a Polar ice-field forced upwards by
pressure ridges. This deposit has the consistency of
rock salt, and enough has been broken up and smoothed
out to make a respectable motor highway, so that you
can inspect it closely. Incidentally, these tremendous
sinks have been plumbed to a depth of 1000 feet.

On the way down the valley you will pass the grave
of old Jimmy Dayton, for many years a driver of one
of the great "Twenty-Mule-Team Borax 53 transporta-
tion wagons, long before the advent of the railroad.
In those days two men always accompanied the team
of twenty mules which hauled the load 150 miles south
over the Mojave Desert. For some unknown reason,
Jimmy started unaccompanied on what proved to be
his last trip. It is supposed he had a touch of sun that
caused him to fall from the driver's seat. As his brakes
were on at the time, the long team of mules was stalled.
Result death claimed Jimmy and his twenty mules on
the spot. It was several days before they were dis-
covered. Jimmy was then buried a few yards off the
road, and a rough and crudely inscribed board placed at
the head of his grave. His real monument, however, was
the skulls of the twenty mules, which were ranged on
either side of the mound. Thus marked, the grave lay
undisturbed for many years until Death Valley became
accessible to the public. Then, one by one, the mules'
skulls disappeared.

The truth must be told : the souvenir-hunter was on
150

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

the job. When all the skulls were gone, a former asso-
ciate placed over the headboard two of the broad iron
tires with which the old borax wagon-wheels were fitted
for desert work. When I first visited Death Valley,
several years ago, the tires were still there. Two years
later, however, they too were gone, though they weighed
several hundred pounds each. Doubtless they are now
adorning the watch chains of some typical tourists for
whom the temptation to accumulate a memento was
too great. I am glad to be able to say, however, that the
headboard was still in place on my last visit. Let us
hope it will remain undisturbed.

Flowing down through the middle of the valley is a
sparkling brook, three to six feet wide, called Salt
River. You will cross it two or three times, and every
time you look at it it will make you thirsty. But that
is about as far as you had better go a mouthful would
take the skin off your tongue. Its saturated alkaline
content seems to have contributed to a remarkable
phenomenon : the brook is filled with tiny fish about as
long as your finger. They are as shy as trout, but they
can be netted. They live on a peculiar grass, something
like watercress, that grows plentifully along the edge of
the stream and seems to thrive in spite of its unfavor-
able location. These fish are somewhat of an anomaly,
for they can no more be classed as salt-water fish than
they can as fresh-water what they live in is a highly
alkaline solution, a few drops of which would lick the
paint off your car ; in comparison, sea-water is palat-
able.

A short distance north of Furnace Creek Inn lies

151

Trails Through the Golden West

Furnace Creek Ranch. For many years stately palms
have been cultivated in this lovely green spot, which is
well irrigated by Furnace Creek itself, piped down
from a never-failing spring in the Funeral Mountains
to the east. The lush growth of greenery in this place is
as anomalous as the alkali minnows. Standing in front
of the ranch mute evidence of superseded greatness
is one of the big borax wagons, with its indispensable
tail-ender, the water-tank, such as Jimmy Dayton drove
in the old days. The combination is worth a camera shot.

When we arrive at Furnace Creek Inn, the first sight
to claim our attention must be Golden Canyon, a few
miles south a gorge hewn out of the Black Mountains
and so brilliant in its varied coloring that we shall
almost call for our tinted glasses. One would never sus-
pect that the black-and-brown-striped cliffs of this
mountain range could harbor such a barrage of color.
The canyon winds into the heart of the hills for about
a mile, the cliffs on either side looking as though they
had been drenched with golden tints pinks, browns,
mauves, bright yellows, deep reds succeeding each other
in a bewildering variety of strata. It is said that these
amazing colors were produced by chemical deposits
in the ancient days when these resplendent cliffs were
part of the sea-bottom. The gorgeous walls give the
effect of an endless Persian rug, with gold as the pre-
vailing color.

Gower's Gulch beckons up the Furnace Creek wash.
The road, which leads up the side of an apparently in-
significant butte beside the highway, gives no hint
of the wonderful view awaiting you at the top. From

152

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

the look-off there is an abrupt drop of a few hundred
feet into a sort of amphitheater, whose walls spread
upward and outward like a flaming fan. Here may be
seen the effects of the prehistoric chemical deposits,
only in more regular formation. Cloudbursts have cor-
rugated these colorful walls until they glitter and gleam
with blinding brilliance according to the angle of the
sun's rays. These multicolored slopes consist entirely
of powdered clay, in which the careless traveler would
sink almost to his knees at every step. They are on ex-
hibition only and are not to be trampled upon. There
is at the right a narrow roadway, however, leading
into the canyon, down which, if you are not driving
too large a car and your brakes are all right, you
might venture. At the bottom it follows a narrow, wind-
ing course down to an old mine where there is a chance
to turn around for the return. It is not to be under-
taken with a big car, however ; the angles are too sharp
and if you should happen to bump into one of those
dry, clayey walls you might subject yourself to a
borax-dust bath.

Directly opposite Gower's Gulch, to the west on the
far side of the valley, Telescope Peak, snow-crowned
monarch of the Panamints, rears his lofty crest 11,-
045 feet above sea-level. To the mountain-climber Tel-
escope Peak offers a real hike. About half the time,
however, he will be crawling on his hands and knees
to keep from being blown off the ridge. And don't over-
look the Salt Pools on the floor of the valley still
farther south. This is the one spot in that vast deposit
where there is a natural opening like an air-hole in the

153

Trails Through the Golden West

ice. The color of the water is a bright blue, and the
crystallization of the virginal white salt around the
edges is as dainty as Jack Frost's etchings on the
window-pane in midwinter. This is a rare spot to visit.
The water is so saturated with the saline deposit that
it will float an egg. Plunge your hand into it, and in-
side of a few seconds it will be covered with salt from
the swift evaporation.

The last and most spectacular scene in this sec-
tion is "Dante's View" a peak in the Black Moun-
tains over a mile above the valley. Here again it is
almost profanation to attempt a description. Adjec-
tives are futile. The motor road rises by gentle stages
to the very summit of the range and leads out on a spur
where it seems that the whole world lies at your feet.
This is the place for your final memories of Death
Valley.

If you have a few more days to spend at the Furnace
Creek Inn there are several other delightful trips that
you can take. One day can be spent in going to Rhyo-
lite, the "ghost city," where the celebrated Bullfrog
gold-mine was discovered. Once the place had a popu-
lation of more than ten thousand, with a "Golden
Street," buildings of steel and stone, and a railroad.
If ever there was a city in the gold-mining history of
our West that was considered to be built for perpetu-
ity, it was Rhyolite. It was one of the high, wide, and
handsome towns where everybody had money to burn.
But now "the lion and the lizard keep" it even the
"wild ass" is not wanting, for the descendants of the
burros of that golden age are still wandering over

154

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

the desert, pathetic reminders of that unquenchable
optimism of the prospector: "Thar's gold in them
thar hills."

When you come to decide what route you will choose
for your departure from Death Valley, bear in mind
that the scenery on the motor roads to the east and
south is hardly up to that of the Panamints to the
west ; and also that especially in the mountains the
same road that you came in by may yield an entirely
new set of views when you travel it in the other di-
rection. But there is one road which, if it is in good
shape, will take you through some brand-new and in-
teresting country the trip through the Panamint
Valley southward.

The road leaves Stovepipe Wells via Emigrant Can-
yon, rising to the summit of the pass over Skidoo Moun-
tain, and down into Panamint Valley through Wildrose
Canyon. It is a fascinating trip. Before the building of
the Eichbaum toll road, this was the regular gateway
into Death Valley from either direction. They can tell
you at Stovepipe Wells whether the road is in good
condition.

The highway through Panamint Valley has for many
years been the only connection from the south with
Darwin and the Owens Valley country to the north.
It is full of historical interest. Here are the deserted
mining towns of Harrisburg and Ballarat, where
"Shorty" Harris made his first pile, deserting those
diggings for the famous strike at the Bullfrog Hills
near Rhyolite, which he sold for the magnificent sum
of $400. It was out of the Bullfrog strike that Charles

155

Trails Through the Golden West

M. Schwab, the steel magnate, took a cool million be-
fore the vein ran out. Shorty never recovered from the
shock. His old 'dobe shack may still be seen at Bal-
larat, and a street full of buildings that you would
not suspect had been deserted for years. The place
looks even more "alive" than Rhyolite does.

The road crosses the Slate Range a few miles south
a rough but perfectly safe climb of about three-
quarters of an hour and enters the little town of
Trona beside that great dry sink, Searles Lake. Here
may be seen one of the largest crude-soda converting
and refining outfits in the world, with its railway run-
ning over the encrusted surface of the lake to those
"holes in the ice" where the product is "mined" in liquid
form. Two mammoth plants are kept running night
and day, There is no hotel at Trona, but there is a
good restaurant, and it is a comparatively short
drive to Randsburg, a hustling little mining town
farther south, where fairly good hotel service is avail-
able. This is a half-day's run from Los Angeles.

Before leaving the vicinity of Trona, there is what
might be termed an imperative visit to be paid to the Pin-
nacles, a most interesting freak rock formation at the
end of Searles Lake, fifteen miles south. Though gen-
erally overlooked by the traveler, it is well worth while
and lies on your way home. This dry lake, consisting
of sodium carbonate, was over 600 feet deep in ancient
times, filling the northern extent of Panamint Valley
and hundreds of square miles southward. In fact, that
whole terrain upon which Trona and its vicinity are
located was formerly under water. On what was then

156

Death Valley In the Shadow of Mt. Whitney

j

tlfie bottom of the lake, beneath what are now the Pin-
nacles, fresh-water springs were formed, containing
calcium salts in solution. When these salts came in
contact with the sodium carbonate of the lake, a de-
posit of lime rock resulted which, in the course of
the centuries, extended to the surface.

Thousands of years of evaporation following, the
bottom of the lake at that point became the present
level of the land, from which these eroded pinnacles
rise today: a vast assemblage of grotesquely carved
gargoyles, grinning, grimacing, and sinister. Dragon,
gnome, and leering face tower over the plain, from
100 to 150 feet high, like an army of hobgoblins. You
will see hooded monks and casqued warriors in ancient
armor and cloaks ; hunchbacks ; evil, mis-shapen ef-
figies of humans and animals; every variety of night-
mare imaginable. And curiously, the nearer you ap-
proach, the more life-like the figures appear. It is as
if the work had been done by a maniac artist who left
no line neglected that would contribute to a devilish
ensemble.

You will see these pinnacles from Trona, hundreds
of them, marching like a ghostly procession over the
desert. They cannot, however, be approached from that
point, and they are farther away than they look.
Follow the highway which, about two miles beyond
Trona crosses the Southern Pacific tracks, first on
the left and again on the right. Then you proceed
for about ten miles to a spot where the railway crosses
the road for the third time and to the right. A few
miles beyond this last crossing, take the first road to

157

Trails Through the Golden West

the left and it will lead you within a few hundred yar|3s
of the spot. This last distance you will drive over
the desert there is no road. Be sure to take plenty bf
photographic film with you and an extra tire or twb ;
that desert sand is volcanic and flinty, and not to be
trusted. If you find it convenient to camp there over-
night, it will be well worth while. Sunset and sunrise
among that aggregation of rocky freaks will be a bit
different from anything you will have ever seen.

158

16

Death Valley Its History

IT WOULD hardly seem necessary to emphasize the
fact that a below-sea-level resort is no place for a
summer vacation. You will not find either of the hotels
open after May 1st. If you were to undertake a motor
trip through the valley in July or August, it is quite
possible that your tires would melt and your tubes
explode ; what might happen to you personally is vain
speculation you might survive and you might not.
If there should happen to be any lack of water, you
will certainly collapse. But because this book is in-
tended to encourage travel, not to frighten folk away,
I hasten to add that Death Valley from November 1st
to May 1st is just as delightful and attractive as it is
unpleasant in midsummer. During the latter season
the mercury has been known to register a maximum of
160 degrees, while 130 degrees is the ordinary thing
except at midnight when the air "cools off" to 120. In
August, the heat is so great that a piece of rock will
scorch the hand like a red-hot coal. A handkerchief
dipped in water will dry in the sun in one and one-
half seconds. Meat slaughtered at night and cooked

159

Trails Through the Golden West

immediately will spoil before morning. The fresh-
water supply, which is piped from a mountain spring
to Furnace Creek Ranch on the floor of the valley,
issues from the spigot at a temperature of 110 de-
grees.

When, in the good old days, the foreman of the ranch
.started to prepare his bacon and eggs for breakfast
well, the records don't say anything about the bacon,
but what he did with his eggs was to bury them for
ten minutes in the sand and he had 'em the way he
liked ? em: hard-boiled. That is a fact. Another fact
is that the hens were kept sitting on their nesbs, not
for the purpose of incubating the eggs but to pre-
vent them from being cooked in advance. In other
words, the eggs were cooler under the hen than under
the sun. If a hen deserted her nest for two hours, her
eggs were ruined. Alfalfa cut in the field became cured
in an hour and a half. Corrals were equipped with
shower baths, and without the frequent use of these
the livestock could not have survived the summer.
Chickens, too, would stand waiting to be hosed off.
The corrals were also fitted with corrugated iron
fences to protect the cattle from the blistering winds
of the desert. Hawks and sparrows, in company, have
been known to seek the sliver of shade provided by a
fence-post : the lion and the lamb lying down together
with a vengeance. Practically all work was done at
night, there being a distinct preference for 120 de-
grees as against 130.

The average rainfall in Death Valley has never ex-
ceeded two inches in a year, and it is a common thing

160

Death Valley Its History

for six months to pass without any at all. The aver-
age moisture content is less than one percent and water
becomes almost as volatile as gasoline. The only pos-
sible comfort in such frightful circumstances is ob-
tained through evaporation. For instance wrap a
water-soaked piece of burlap or blanket around a jug
of water taken from the Furnace Spring pipe-line
and you will reduce the temperature of the water from
110 to 70 degrees. But in the old days white men,
even with expert knowledge of general conditions,
could not survive such withering heat; they slept in
bath-tubs filled with water, their heads in slings to pre-
vent them from drowning, and the work was done by
Indians under a white foreman. During the third year
three foremen succumbed; their graves, back of the
ranch, do not form a part of the sightseer's program.
Not all midsummer tragedies in the valley are due to
lack of water. The glare of the sun is as wicked as
the high temperature. More than one man has been
found dead with a half -filled canteen of water on him.
It would appear that the human system cannot, even
with plenty of drinking water, absorb so much moisture
as the hot and dry air will draw out through the
pores. There is neither damp nor dry rot in this place.
After death, everything becomes mummified, including
both animal and vegetable life. Why a ranch in such
a fearsome place as this, you ask? To furnish supplies
to the old Harmony Borax miners in various camps
throughout the valley. That was many years ago. To-
day they mine the borax up the slopes of the Amargosa
Mountains, surrounding the valley, at a comfortable

161

Trails Through the Golden West

living altitude ; and, while the ranch is kept in good con-
dition as an object of interest to the visitor, it also
provides a nine-hole golf course and produces dates
and fresh vegetables for the hotel guests.

From start to finish Death Valley has been about as
well advertised as any section of the United States,
though for all its advertising the number of its visi-
tors has been ridiculously small until the last four or
five years ; during this recent period considerable prog-
ress has been made in building good roads for auto-
mobiles. The valley received its first real publicity
at the time of its discovery, in 1849, by the lost emi-
grant train of Middle Westerners, known as the Jay-
hawkers, who stumbled into it, in search of a short cut
from Salt Lake City to the California goldfields. So far
as is known, these were the first white persons to enter
the Valley, and their "discovery" was not by intent,
nor was it exactly successful. Out of the forty-one men,
women, and children who composed the party, over one-
third left their bones on the floor of the valley. Hence
the name that was given to the place. Who was re-
sponsible for naming it has been a moot question for
many years. The credit is now generally given to Wil-
liam L. Manly, one of the leaders of the ill-fated ex-
pedition. However it may have happened, it certainly
was a case of giving a dog a bad name a name which
it has taken Death Valley three-quarters of a century
to live down.

This tragic expedition entered the valley through
one of the canyons of the Funeral Range of the
Amargosa Mountains to the east. They slung their

162

Death Valley Its History

oxen, wagons, and supplies down over the cliffs by
means of ropes to the sands below. But down there only
humans escaped ultimately the oxen were butchered.
It was not that they suffered from the heat, for it
was December when they entered the place; it was
rather that they were both human beings and animals
so terribly reduced in vitality from hunger and thirst
that they could not climb even the negotiable passes in
the Panamints to the west. It appeared that all were
doomed to die in their tracks. But eventually two
men Manly and John Rogers found their way out
afoot up Emigrant Wash, to the summit of what is
now known as Townsend Pass, and down into Pana-
mint Valley, over the Mojave Desert, through the San
Gabriel Mountains and into San Fernando Valley
200 miles. Here they found help, stayed long enough to
recover their strength, and then returned for those who
had been left behind. From this terrible experience have
been woven a number of inspiring western sagas which
have never needed any exaggeration or elaboration ; the
simple facts were enough. The full story has no place
here, but it is worth the attention of any one interested
in learning something about the characteristics physi-
cal, mental and spiritual that typified the indomita-
ble generation that preceded our great transcontinental
railway systems in the winning of the West.

Death Valley's most prominent and up-to-date press
agent is Walter Scott, the redoubtable "Scotty" whose
two-million-dollar-castle in the Grapevine Mountains
has already been described briefly. For more than a
quarter ^f a century he has been credited with owning

163

Trails Through the Golden West

an inexhaustible and secret gold-mine. Scotty has a
millionaire partner in Chicago who came to Death
Valley many moons ago in search of health. Scotty took
him in hand, and the man's recovery followed swiftly.
Thus was created a Damon and Pythias friendship
which has stood the test of years. Some folk regard
Scotty as more or less of a mountebank, but he is
not to be dismissed so easily though he doesn't care
much what people think of him or of what he does.
He has had a most interesting career for a man who
was once regarded as a "desert-rat." Scotty was born
in Virginia some fifty-five or sixty years ago. In the
'90's he came to Nevada as a cowboy in the employ
of Governor Sparks. As a dead shot and a good rider
he joined Buffalo Bill's Wild West in its early days
and went around the world with that eminent showman,
from whom he learned the value of publicity and for
whom he has always felt a regard very close to hero-
worship.

Scotty was in on the Tonopah gold-strike and was
a well-known figure in and around Goldfield, where he
is supposed to have got his financial start. At any
rate his first public exploit was to journey from Gold-
field to Los Angeles, where he threw money all over
the town and particularly in the caf<s, until the police
had to interfere to keep the streets clear. The more
congested they became, the higher Scotty's spirits
rose. Of course, the story of the secret gold~pame fol-
lowed, which also pleased Scotty, although IK Aever
either confirmed or denied it seriously. He ? "/v&ys has

164

l-?l,Si*:: ; ,*fl/-i*i,!S

On the Devil's .Golf Course in Death Valley the en-
tire surface of the ground is crystalline salt, broken
up into solid slabs.

One of the most impressive mountains in California,
San Jacinto rises above the floor of the desert in a
sheer wall of stone almost two miles high.

Death Valley Its History

a "Yes" ready for some questions and an equally swift
"No" for others.

Scotty's next move, in April, 1907, was to charter a
Santa Fe train from Los Angeles to New York, paying
$10,000 for it, which he paid down in cash when the
deal was consummated. He wanted to see how quickly
he could get to New York and back. The trip east
was made in forty-five hours an unbroken record.
His return was leisurely he had got all the publicity
he wanted. The next we hear of him he had joined a
circus. This was followed by his appearance on the
stage in one-night-stand melodrama. That is supposed
to be a closed chapter in his life. The theatrical pro-
gram which announced his appearance as the hero
who foiled the villain's pursuit of the virtuous maid is
a work of art.

Shortly after the collapse of Goldfield and Tonopah,
in the panic of 1907, Scotty disappeared, and the next
we hear from him is as a book-maker, following the
races in the East, from which he is said to have cleaned
up $100,000. My old friend Bill Corcoran now gone
to his long rest stated that in and around 1904 he
knew Scotty to go broke in Goldfield, disappear and
turn up again in a couple of weeks with as much as
$15,000 on his person. Since his Chicago millionaire
friend didn't figure in the picture until about 1906,
it may be inferred that he knew where "it" grew rather
early in the game.

Today Mr. Walter Scott stands somewhat over six
feet and weighs considerably over 200 pounds, with a
thick, heavy thatch of white hair bristling above a pair

165

Trails Through the Golden West

of bright blue eyes, and a hand as soft as a woman's.
He has certainly learned one thing: how to hold his
tongue about his own business. That's one reason why
he has lasted so long as an attraction to Death Valley.
Nothing makes him quite so happy as to drive the 300-
odd miles between Death Valley Ranch and Los An-
geles in six hours, and he is just as likely to make his
start at two or three o'clock in the morning as after
breakfast. He does anything, in fact, that will main-
tain his reputation for eccentricity.

Time was, in the early days, when he couldn't move
around Death Valley without being followed. Certain
folk were determined to find that plethoric gold-mine
which he was reputed to own. If they had succeeded,
Scotty's disappearance would have followed as a mat-
ter of course. No one knew this better than Scotty, and
he had a characteristic way of meeting such situations
as they arose. Before the advent of the automobile, the
only methods of transportation in Death Valley were
the horse and the burro. Now Scotty has always been
a genuine connoisseur in horseflesh, although his fa-
vorite animal was a mule. The greatest possible
tragedy in Death Valley is the lack of water. But no
one has ever equaled Mr. Walter Scott in intimate
knowledge of the location of various springs and water-
holes in the vicinity. He has had over thirty years to fa-
miliarize himself with them. When, therefore, Scotty
started on a trip, knowing that he would be followed,
he rode his best horse. He would then camp near a
spring or a water-hole of which no one but himself
knew, and there he would settle down until his f ollow-

166

Death Valley Its History

ers ran out of water and left the locality. Then he
would make his getaway on his fleet and trusty horse
before they could follow him.

Scotty has three interesting hobbies. In the first
place, he is an authority on modern fire-arms and has
a collection at the ranch containing every make of rifle
known. As already stated, it was his expert rifle shoot-
ing that attracted the attention of Buffalo Bill. Second
is his hero-worship of Buffalo Bill himself. In Scotty's
bedroom at the "castle" a life-size oil-painting of
Colonel Cody hangs on the wall, one of his most prized
possessions. Third and lastly: Scotty would rather do
his own cooking, out in his rough-board shack, than be
entertained by his well-beloved Chicago millionaire
buddy. And that's saying something.

He is expert in preserving figs, pears, and cherries ;
and this, as he says, is quite enough reason for calling
his caravansary a ranch. Visitors to Death Valley are
always welcome. He has but one request to make of
one and all : that they mind their own business and for-
bear to ask idiotic questions. For no other reason than
to anticipate one of these questions in advance, he has
erected a huge sign a mile distant from the entrance:
"No Meals Served at Scotty's." In spite of this, he
says, a lot of tourists drive up and ask if they can
get a bite to eat. Take him in any way you find him,
the versatile Walter Scott is an asset to Death Valley
and a very substantial citizen.

167

Santa Catalina and Palm Springs Canyon

T It 7HEN Don Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo, fearless
* navigator and swashbuckling advance agent for
his august majesty Philip III of Spain, came sailing
up the coast of California in 1542 in search of adven-
ture, he stumbled upon a beautiful island, just as
knights always do in fairy tales. He dropped anchor
in a lovely, crescent-shaped cove which the friendly
Indians who dwelt there had already named the "Bay
of Moons," and Don Cabrillo had the good taste not to
change its name. As for the island itself, upon that he
bestowed the musical name of Santa Catalina, in honor
of his patron saint, and he took possession of it in
the name of his king. As the centuries sped by, this
most picturesque spot came to be recognized by the
dwellers on the mainland, twenty-five miles away, as a
place to seek peace and forget one's troubles. For
many years, however, its loveliness was known only to
a favored few, because its owners were not rich enough
to improve it or sufficiently alive to the uses of pub-
licity to sound its praises abroad.

But one day a man named Wrigley recently passed
168

Santa Catalina and Palm Springs Canyon

to his long rest who had devoted many years to ac-
cumulating wealth without knowing exactly what he
was going to do with it, happened upon the shores
of this island. And for the first time in a long and busy
life, his spiritual eyes were opened to the significance
of the question put so many centuries ago : "What shall
it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose
his own soul?" He bought the island.

There are those who will smile at this interpretation
of Wrigley's action and say that he bought Santa
Catalina because it was a good investment. But I
know better. I never met the man, but I feel that I knew
him ; and I am certain that he could not have set foot
on that enchanted shore and raised his eyes to the
hills without feeling the Spirit of Beauty lay her hands
on him. Nor could such exquisite harmony as exists here
between man's work and Nature's have been effected
save through sympathetic co-operation. If Mr. Wrig-
ley's response had been less sincere and complete
he could not have brought his aspirations to the per-
fection that is everywhere evident in this superbly beau-
tiful spot.

Catalina is definitely one of the sights of the Pacific
Coast where a wanderer may go for a day or all sum-
mer or all winter the heavenly sea breeze will make
it difficult for you to distinguish between the seasons.
In the first place, the two hours' sail out from San
Pedro across the channel will make you feel that you
have embarked for the Hesperides and you'll be looking
for the golden apples up the verdant slopes of the hills
as the vessel slips into Avalon harbor. Santa Catalina

169

Trails Through the Golden West

is an eloquent example of the possibilities when a man
of wealth and good taste embarks upon a hobby, and the
citizens of Los Angeles may congratulate themselves
that a man with vision came into possession of that
lovely resort.

There are comforts here for the traveler who can't
get along without a luxurious hotel, and also for the one
who prefers a cabin up in the hills. If you must have
a country club and golf, they are here. If you like hunt-
ing, the progeny of Cabrillo's Spanish goats, left on the
island nearly four centuries ago, will give you all the
thrills you want. One of the greatest submarine gardens
in the world is here, and a glass-bottomed boat provides
the medium for a strange and interesting experience. If
you can't be happy without fishing, the leaping tuna
will give you any odds you ask and beat you. Mountain
drives gridiron the island in every direction for the
twenty miles of its length, with romantic reaches of a
rockbound coast sweeping into the vision as the road
meanders up hill and down dale to the drone of the mo-
tor. And when a gale comes howling up the coast, Cata-
lina's cliffs rival those of Cornwall in majesty.

Catalina's greatest attraction it was Mr. Wrigley's
greatest pride is a justly celebrated aviary of rare
birds gathered from all over the world ; in itself, it jus-
tifies a visit to the island. Possibly your introduction to
Catalina may be as dramatic as mine. As I drew near
the enclosure, a few minutes' drive from the pier, I was
greeted with a clear, masculine whistle, followed by the
remarkable salutation, in words as clearly enunciated
and human as were ever spoken: * c Oh 9 go wash your-

170

Santa Catalina and Palm Springs Canyon

self!" Suspecting some practical joke, I looked around
for the speaker and found myself facing a small cage
containing a coal-black Myna bird, an Asiatic species
of starling, who, as I looked him in the eye, opened his
beak to the fullest extent and cut loose with the fol-
lowing: "Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh, catch 'em!" demonstrat-
ing what may happen to a perfectly respectable Myna
bird when he is brought from India, taught to talk, and
allowed to knock around with Mr, Wrigley's baseball
players. I might say that, once you have heard a Myna
bird talk Americanese, you'll never confound him with
the parrot family. He's just a plain human being when
it comes to speech. And his accent is nothing short of
marvelous.

It isn't generally known that Santa Catalina is an
archeological treasure-house. Excavations have been
going on all over the island for many years, producing
some rare finds for both the Smithsonian Institution
and the Museum of the American Indian, New York.
The most interesting discovery to date is the fact that
a large restaurant in the port town of Avalon stands
over the island's largest kitchen-midden, where centuries
ago the natives barbecued fish in great pits. And the
restaurateur is very much worried lest his landlord in-
sists on buying him out for the purpose of ascertaining
whether anything worth while is buried underneath.
Only very recently a beautifully etched steatite bowl,
estimated to be at least 500 years old, was unearthed
in Avalon by workmen digging a sewer-trench. To the
amateur photographer, however, Indian-face Rock, at
Little Harbor, will prove more interesting than all the

171

Trails Through the Golden West

archeology on the island. It is a startling cliff forma-
tion easily seen with the naked eye, showing a mammoth
profile of an Indian chief. And though your camera must
be trained across the harbor about a quarter of a mile
distant, an enlargement will bring out the lines of the
face very clearly. Also, you will have to take the sail
over to La Belle Avalon just to see how different it is
from most seaside resorts.

Few visitors to California who grow enthusiastic
over the ornamental palms that grace the boulevards
and adorn private property realize that the origin of
these picturesque trees is a hidden canyon in the Coast
Range at Palm Springs, a hundred miles east of Los
Angeles on the Southern Pacific Lines. When I visited
this unique and lovely spot for the first time, many years
ago, there were a few shacks in the vicinity to take care
of the occasional visitor; nothing that approximated
a hotel. Since then, however, fashion has set the pace
from Los Angeles in that direction and beautiful estates
have sprung to life out of desert sands, along with ex-
cellent hotels. How the residents of Los Angeles came to
overlook this beautiful spot for so many years is a mys-
tery. Its very singularity would justify a visit if there
were no hostelry within a hundred miles. One would
never dream that rugged, precipitous old Mount San
Jacinto had carried such an altogether lovely secret in
his granite heart for so many years. Watered by numer-
ous sparkling springs, this exquisite tropical display
welcomes the desert traveler with all its pristine fresh-
ness and Oriental setting. How far back into the depths
of the mountain that winding bit of loveliness extends,

172

Santa Catalina and Palm Springs Canyon

I have no idea possibly four or five miles. Who planted
those lofty trees no one knows; perhaps some weary
padre, assigned to Coronado's expedition, nearly 400
years ago, stumbled upon the place. You won't be much
concerned, however, about the length of the canyon or
the way the palms got there. You will be quite content
just to bury your hot face in the cooling waters of
those heavenly springs and try to remember how the
Twenty-third Psalm runs. And you'll not leave that
enchanted spot without training your camera on it.
And such a background for a grove of palms yoxi will
see nowhere else in the United States. They tower into
the air, straight as arrows, from 75 to 100 feet high,
crowned with a great plume of bright green fan-shaped
leaves, their trunks as smooth as one's hand ; the pend-
ent circular thatch of brownish, dead leaves imme-
diately under the verdant crest is the deadline, as it
were, where the old gives way to the new in its upward
march. You'll want to tarry a while in that spot. That
snow-laden breeze fronl the mountain-top, pushing its
way down-stream to the very edge of the desert itself,
will furnish you with an unanswerable argument for not
hastening back to your hotel.

173

18

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

fTlHE familiar phrase "Yosemite the Incomparable"
- expresses only the simple truth. For many years
artists and writers have rhapsodized over this lovely
place, and all of them have learned how inadequate
is either paint or language to express its elusive charm.
The intangible spirit of the High Sierra must be its
own interpreter. That such immanent beauty could
have been left behind by the barren and bleak Glacial
Age is almost beyond comprehension. Here is the veri-
table "jewel in the lotus" , the multum in parvo of all
mountain scenery in the Western Hemisphere. Think
of the vast extent of the High Sierra: 430 miles long,
by 70 to 80 miles wide and 14,000 feet high and then
try to visualize this exquisite valley seven miles long
by a scant mile wide, ensconced between mighty walls on
either side, 3000 to 4000 feet high ; completely hidden
away, like a pearl of great price, in the granite moun-
tain-side, 4000 feet above sea-level.

This matchless canyon is so ingeniously concealed
that, when eighty years ago it was discovered by
chance, the walls at the lower end had to be blasted

174

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

in order that a roadway might be constructed. In
fact, the sole entrance to that sheltered shrine was by
way of the singing mountain stream that had, through-
out the ages, followed the pathway hewn by the mighty
glacier which sculptured it. Today, however, the
through trains of the Southern Pacific and the Santa
Fe railways bring the traveler almost to the very gate-
way itself, and a comfortable motor ride of eight miles
over well-built roads does the rest; and what is of
vital importance does it with consummate good taste
and in harmony with the plan of the Great Architect
who conceived it.

To one who has never visited Yosemite, the over-
whelming character of the entrance rarely fails of
its effect. The motor, continuing the climb from El
Portal railway station, glides so smoothly along the
picturesque banks of the Merced River that the sophisti-
cated tourist cannot possibly anticipate what lies ahead.
One can almost read in that expressionless face the
solemn determination to manifest no surprise over any-
thing. But note the change as the picturesque view
merges into one of supernal beauty and sublimity!
Majestic Cathedral Rocks on the right project from
the southern wall like a huge peninsula, cutting the
valley width from a full mile to a half-mile and form-
ing a magnificent gateway, whose seven-mile perspective
terminates with gorgeous Half Dome at the far end.
On the hither slope of the Rocks, 2000 feet below their
summit, Bridal Veil Fall cascades over the granite lip
of the 620-foot cliff that separates it from the floor
of the valley, with such infinite delicacy that you may

175

Trails Through the Golden West

note the wind swaying it to one side as though it were
sheer gossamer. This filmy cataract has a lateral play
of twenty feet in that gentle breeze, so soft that it can
hardly be felt. And daily, in the slanting rays of the
descending sun, a lovely rainbow arches its lower courses
like a brilliantly framed painting.

In bold relief against the sky, the three peaks of
Bridal Veil's background rear a triple crown, each one
loftier than the other and inclining towards the valley
in a series of graceful genuflections. To the left and
facing Bridal Veil stands one of the magnificent cliffs
of the world : El Capitan. Towering in its tremendous
bulk, it forms the left side of the gateway of the valley
at its narrowest part. The artistic proportions of this
overwhelming cliff, however, blind one to its great
height. A variety of estimates have placed it all the
way from 400 to 1500 feet. Very few have even ap-
proximated its correct altitude, 3604 feet nearly
three-quarters of a mile. More amazing still is the
fact of its being one solid mass of granite.

As you stand there on the floor of the valley, from
three to five thousand feet below the summits of those
overwhelming masses, which rise perpendicularly for
a distance of seven miles on either side, you will note a
definite smoothness which could have been produced by
nothing but rushing water and the chiseling effect of
glacial action. For that is the way Yosemite was
formed. Originally, the Merced River, antedating in its
action the Ice Age, flowed approximately at the level
of the cliffs which hem in the valley today, and started
the excavation process which was continued during

176

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

the glacial period. This was followed by a cataclysmic
geological fault in which the floor of the valley dropped
3000 feet. The Merced River and the Glacial Age com-
pleted the marvel. Let your imagination play around
the fact that during that remote epoch a mammoth
glacier, several miles in extent and a mile deep, plowed
its inexorable way, inch by inch, foot by foot, across
the western slopes of the Sierra and dug a three-way
trench, roughly in the shape of the letter Y, through
the eternal granite.

On the main summit of the Cathedral Rocks, 2680
feet above the valley floor, there are lying glacial boul-
ders which prove that the ancient Yosemite Glacier at
one time completely overwhelmed these tremendous rock
masses. Another remarkable result of this glacial action
is that it excavated three successive levels along the
slopes of the range a mammoth stairway, so to speak,
leading to the upper reaches of the Sierra, with risers
varying from one hundred to six hundred feet. These
strange steps have resolved themselves into what the
geologists call hanging valleys, the final drop or over-
shoot of which is the summit of the 2000- to 3500-foot
cliffs which constitute the walls of the valley. For thou-
sands upon thousands of years the melting ice and snow
of the lofty Sierra glaciers have been released in rush-
ing summer streams that have worn for themselves can-
yons from two to ten thousand feet deep in the slopes
of the range, ending in the lofty and spectacular cata-
racts for which Yosemite is famous, and creating the
Merced River which, winds so gracefully between its
towering walls,

177,

Trails Through the Golden West

It is a little hard for the visitor to believe, as he stands
on the valley floor, that he has already climbed 4000 feet
above sea-level to reach it, and that he would have
to climb nearly 7000 feet more, above the massive walls
that shut him in, before he could reach the crest of the
range. Another strange fact is that this area is so
small and so securely hidden that there is no place
outside from which it may be discovered not even
from an airplane. The mighty Sierra is so tremendous,
the valley itself so diminutive that hunting for it
would be like the proverbial search for a needle in a
haystack.

The feature of the Yosemite that makes it pre-
eminently beautiful in the eyes of world-travelers is its
waterfalls. Of these the highest single fall is dainty,
slender Ribbon Fall, which drops 1612 feet from its
upland source. Being pent in, as it were, by the recess
it has worn into the cliff during thousands of years, it
rushes down its own chute rather than leaping clear of
the cliff.

As one wanders about on the valley floor, with such
an embarrassment of natural riches spread before his
view, he cannot realize that there is almost an en-
tirely different world above his head, completely hidden
from the eye. He is so impressed by the magnificence
of his surroundings that he cannot appreciate that
Yosemite Valley, seven miles long by one mile wide,
is an infinitesimally small part of Yosemite National
Park, with its area of 1139 square miles or 728,825
acres. He has heard for years that Yosemite Falls are
the highest in the world, and they are thus naturally

178

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

foremost in his mind. In order, then, to avoid anticlimax
we will take the "back door" out of the valley, over
a zigzag bridle path leading up the southern wall for
a look-off from far-famed Glacier Point. Enroute we
pass lovely Vernal Fall, breaking over its wide crest,
like an immense curtain, into an emerald pool worn by
the falling waters of ages, 320 feet below. When the sun
is just right, it is the most scintillating cataract im-
aginable, with an iridescence that dazzles the eye.

Farther on, as we emerge from the pine-tree and fir
growth through which the trail runs, we come face to
face with a mighty cataract that seems as if it might
overwhelm us before we could get out of its way : Nevada
Fall, the upper part of the Merced River where it
breaks out of its awesome canyon into the light of day
and takes its first leap over a precipice 600 feet high.
Here the river is crowded into a water-worn chute thirty
feet wide as it approaches the crest and fairly catapults
itself with a defiant roar far over the edge like an un-
leashed monster. It is a sight for gods and men. Pure
white water, the spray from which is blown by the wind
over the bridle trail you are ascending. The ground
trembles beneath your feet from the tremendous impact
of the cataract on the rocks below. Rising to the sum-
mit of the cliff you cross the river on a small bridge and
shortly top out at Glacier Point with the world spread
at your feet. What a view !

Off to the south, the full sweep of the Sierra, dropping
from its heights by that stately stairway which the gla-
ciers hewed out of the mountain-side eons ago, thus giv-
ing birth to the Nevada and Vernal Falls which we have

179

Trails Through the Golden West

just left behind. Glinting in the sunshine, the turbulent
Merced, having made a descent of over 1200 feet in its
three steps in the course of half a mile, lies far below.
Now we see what has constricted the rushing river at
the crest of Nevada Fall: the narrow valley between
"Liberty Cap" and Mount Broderick. From where we
stand, however, it seems but a very little thing in the
vast ensemble of mountain scenery that surrounds it,
and the terrifying roar that shook us in our saddles as
we slowly paced our way upwards beside it now rises
like an echo from afar and is borne away by a change
in the wind.

Far across the valley, the first sight that catches the
eye in the brilliant sunshine is the glistening crest of
Yosemite Fall as it breaks over the lip of its mighty
cliff, 2600 feet above the valley floor. Take your binocu-
lars and watch it as it gathers headway for its first
breathless leap of 1430 feet, at the foot of which may
be seen the hanging valley which interposes between
the upper and lower fall. Surpassing all other falls in
the world in height and splendor, Yosemite fascinates
and enthralls the onlooker to such an extent that he re-
turns again and again to catch its glorious view from
every angle. Even at this distance the reverberations
of that tremendous cataract subdue all other sounds
just as its overwhelming roar dominates the valley floor.
It is amazing to think that that first fall of 1430
feet is nine times higher than Niagara, the frightful
force of which has worn a winding canyon into the
rock covering a drop of 815 feet through which it rushes
at break-neck speed before it reaches its second fall

180

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

over the sheer cliff 320 feet down to the valley floor.
Riding across the valley for a close-up, one cannot ap-
proach the foot of the fall without taking a chance at
getting drenched. The most advantageous spot for a
photograph is from across the river, where a lovely
reflection, both morning and evening, rewards the pa-
tient zealot ; if he is patient, his reward will be all that
he could wish. Nowhere else in the world could he photo-
graph a 2600-foot cataract reflected in the glassy sur-
face of a mountain stream.

There is a charming little lodge at Glacier Point, a
few yards from the edge of the cliff, where one may
settle down for a day or a week. The magnificence of
the views from this lofty spot is beyond words. Spectacu-
lar Half-Dome a 5000-foot granite peak split almost
vertically in half, so close at hand that it would seem
your voice should carry easily across the void; and odd-
looking Liberty Cap, a 7000-foot mass whose summit is
on a level with your eye two immense upthrusts that
have been worn so smooth by glacier action that it would
almost seem possible to write on their sheer sides with
a lead-pencil. Most overwhelming of all is Overhanging
Rock, jutting out from the sheer edge of the cliff, whence
you can drop a pebble 3200 feet down completely in the
clear, and from which the valley below looks like a
diminutive door-yard. One mile westward Sentinel Dome
overlooks both the eastern and the western valley limits,
with Yosemite Fall in the middle distance* Here also may
be found growing in a cleft in the granite a beautiful,
symmetrical, and solitary specimen of a stunted pine
which has defied the wintry gales of untold centuries,

181

Trails Through the Golden West

still sturdy and unyielding, with its roots deep down in
the eternal rock. No other vegetation in sight, and not
enough earth on that wind-swept peak to fill a hat. Well
worth a visit, that remarkable tree, not to mention a
picture.

Every morning a motor-coach leaves Glacier Point
for a day's ride through the "back-country" to the
Mariposa Big-tree Grove: the world-famous gigantic
Sequoia. In this land of the superlatives where, if one
is going to stick to the truth, an understatement becomes
an impossibility, one hesitates now and then from the
sheer fear of being considered a romancer. The only
reply possible to skepticism is: go and see for your-
self. If you will "try anything once," one little journey
into Nature's Wonderland of the Southwest and the
High Sierra will make you marvel that you could have
passed up these glories so long in favor of a European
trip. One brief sojourn amongst the Big Trees and you
won't question that "the groves were God's first tem-
ples."

Only reverence can be felt by any appreciative soul
on approaching these age-old products of Nature's
handiwork. You will ask but one privilege: to be left
alone awhile and be spared the punishment of listening
to any idle conversation. The Grizzly Giant, monster of
the grove, is not less than 4000 years old, with a height
of 204 feet, girth 93, diameter 36, the third largest tree
in existence. The monarch of them all is the General
Sherman in the Sequoia Grove, with a height of 274
feet, a girth of 63, and a diameter of 37%. Its first
limbs are 150 feet above the ground and ten feet in di-

182

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

ameter. This tree is the oldest living thing in the world,
majesty personified. At that, it is not the tallest. There
are lots of these marvels, in the brawn of their youth,
that exceed 300 feet in height youth meaning some-
where in the neighborhood of 500 years of age. The
oraly way one can get a satisfactory idea of their great
he\ight is to lie down on his back and look straight up-
walrds. There seems to be no end to the vista. The
Tawona" is the celebrated tree through the base of
which the highway runs, ample for the accommodation
of a motor-coach. Others lying prone and hollow are
wide enough to allow a horse and wagon to drive through
for tto^ greater part of their length.

Even when you are standing among these trees it is
almost impossible to realize fully their size and their
antiquity. You must take in the fact, for instance,
that the tree you are looking at now was flourishing
in this spct fifteen hundred years before the birth of
Christ. You learn that it is 300 feet high; but before
you can grasp the full significance of this you must re-
call that the Capitol at Washington is 287 feet high,
that the length of an average city block is 240 feet.
Remember, when you try to realize what 36 feet of di-
ameter is, that the width of two city lots is 40 feet. John
Muir counted 4000 rings in the trunk of one of these
giants that had fallen, showing that it must have flour-
ished during the age of the Pharaohs. Some of these
trees have an ancestry that goes back into the mists
of the Cretaceous Age. How they managed to survive
the Glacial Epoch nobody knows. The principal char-
acteristic that has contributed to their survival is their

183

Trails Through the Golden West

immunity to forest fires ; the redwood contains no pitch
and much water, and will not burn when green. Their
greatest enemy has been the lumber industry. You can
imagine how much solicitude a lumber magnate would/
have for the preservation of these giants when yoi/
realize that one of them will cut 100,000 feet, boar}
measurement, of beautiful redwood.

Future generations of Nature-lovers will hardly ap-
preciate how much they owe to that truly great Prcfesi-
dent and conservationist Theodore Roosevelt, whose^f in-
domitable energy and determination were all that s^food
between the safety of the magnificent Sequoias amji the
conscienceless rapaciby of the Pacific Coast lumber in-
terests as frequently manifested through their ! repre-
sentatives in the Congress. And here again the memory
of Stephen T. Mather will be a precious heritage to all
of us for years to come. As head of the National Parks
System, he took up the work where President Roosevelt
laid it down and continued it as long as he lived.
Throughout the vast extent of our glorious West,
wherever a national park or reservation has been es-
tablished as a legacy for all time for "him who, in the
love of Nature, holds communion with her visible forms,"
it may truthfully be said of each of these real public
servants: <c Would you see his monument? Look around
you!"

It is a great comfort to know that these wonderful
California Big Tree groves are still in their prime; that,
contrary to the general idea, the Sequoia was never
more widely distributed than now ; that it is not a de-
caying species, and that no tree indigenous to the Sierra

184

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

Nevada and the Pacific Coast in general is more firmly
established and in harmony with both climate and soil.
It is an inspiration to realize that the national forest
reserves of the United States today approximate 30,-
000,000 acres, and that at last it is recognized as
"good form" for Senators and Congressmen to cham-
pion the cause of forest conservation. It is too bad that
they are not alive to the crying necessity for a similar
interest in our fast-disappearing wild life.

A night or two at Wawona Lodge in the Mariposa
Grove, and you will be wending your way back to Yo-
semite, dropping down the 3000-foot elevation by easy
grades to the floor of the valley. And here is where you
are going to concede the appropriateness of the name
of "Inspiration Point," the view from which, up the
valley, is superb. Summon all the adjectives in your vo-
cabulary you can hardly overdo it. Such a panorama
never was on sea or land. It is overpowering, an un-
broken vista of magnificence that will take your breath
away.

The days and weeks that could be spent ransacking
the scenic treasures of this place ! Hiking horseback
motoring: any of these offers unlimited possibilities for
a delightful summer in the Sierra. Up there in the hills
there is an enormous area of lakes and streams, a wilder-
ness of great charm, which would take you far more
than even a whole summer to explore ; trails and roads,
too, that have been in use for half a century though
you would never suspect it unless somebody told you.
The knowing ones have long loved this place. Old John
Muir knew all its secrets, reveled in them, and wrote

185

Trails Through the Golden West

gloriously of them. But not one visitor in a thousand
who goes to the Yosemite dreams that they exist.

In the whole Sierra Nevada there is nothing more
wild and inspiring than the Grand Canyon of the
Tuolumne River. To quote John Muir: "For miles the
river is one wild, exulting, on-rushing mass of snowy,
purple bloom, spreading over glacial waves of granite
without any definite channel, gliding in magnificent
silver plumes, dashing and foaming through huge boul-
der dams, leaping high in the air in wheel-like whirls,
displaying glorious enthusiasm, tossing from side to
side, doubling, glinting, singing in exuberance of moun-
tain energy."

Take the motor-car run from the Yosemite and visit
this place. See the "wheel-like whirls" that Muir men-
tions. They have recently been given a name ^Water-
wheel Falls and in a few years they will be well known.
Huge slabs of rock project upwards from the river
bottom, and against them the rushing stream hurls
itself with an impact that sends a graceful arc of green
and white water, twenty to fifty feet high, whirling
into a foamy whiteness as it falls back into the stream.
Leading down to these extraordinary falls are foot
and saddle trails, which pass into magnificent Muir
Gorge. This latter, though quite different in its scenery
from Yosemite, is just as wonderful. Not far away is
beautiful Hetch Hetchy Valley with its $100,000,000
water and power project for San Francisco.

The supreme motor trip of the whole Sierra today
has been created by the rehabilitation of the old Tioga
Trail, which connects all the lofty western mountain

186

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

roads in California with the eastern slope of the High
Sierra. From here the motorist may make his way
through famous Owens Valley eastward via Los Angeles,
or northerly via the Nevada desert country into the
Lake Tahoe region. Fifty years ago this Tioga Trail
was constructed by Chinese labor to lead to a gold-mine
on the western slopes which never panned out. A few
years ago the late Stephen T. Mather gathered around
him a group of public-spirited citizens who purchased
the old road from the mine-owners and presented it to
the Government. The construction of a first-class motor
road followed, resulting in establishing a connection by
the Southern Pacific Railway between its Lake Tahoe
branch on the Overland Route and its Yosemite Valley
Route through the Yosemite Valley motor-coach line.
This is an extraordinary run of 206 miles, consuming
two days and taking the passenger through some of
the most magnificent mountain scenery in the country,
without materially altering his itinerary. Briefly it rep-
resents a comparatively new step in co-operation be-
tween railroad and motor transportation instead of use-
less competition, and the traveler reaps the benefit.

Rounding the shoulder of mighty El Capitan to the
general level of the lower Sierra, in itself, represents
an elevation of 7000 feet above sea-leveL This is the
outlook to the north you enjoyed from Glacier Point
and Sentinel Rock. Follows a fascinating drive through
the famous Tuolumne Big Tree Grove, through forests
of pine, fir, and juniper, pausing for luncheon on the
shores of exquisite Lake Tenaya, encircled by the giant
peaks and domes that constitute the head of Yosemite

187

Trails Through the Golden West

Valley. Rising steadily up the western slopes of the
range, through Tuolumne Meadows and Lee Vining
Canyon, you cross the summit at an elevation of
9941 feet above the sea. Dropping gently down the
eastern face of the Sierra to mysterious Mono Lake in
the Nevada desert, around the shoulders of mighty
precipices, passing strange and menacing extinct
craters and bottomless canyons, you arrive finally for a
night's rest at Tioga Lodge.

Resuming your journey next morning, you speed
along for miles through desert country somewhat re-
sembling Death Valley, being burnt to a cinder by pre-
historic volcanoes. The route hugs the eastern base
of the High Sierra, recrosses the Nevada State line into
California, and mounts^ the eastern slope of the range.
Your night is spent at Tahoe Tavern, nestling amid
lofty pines on the shore of lovely Lake Tahoe, uni-
versally conceded to be the most beautiful body of water
in the United States and noted alike for its livableness
and its accessibility. Here you may resume your journey
east or west, or you may return to Yosemitc a fair
example of the efforts being put forth these days by
most transcontinental lines on behalf of the traveler.

Glittering, serrated peaks, snow-capped the year
round a dozen of them ranging from 9000 to 11,000
feet above sea-level, surround Lake Tahoe. In some
places green meadows slope gently down to the water's
edge, fringing pebbly beaches; in others, tremendous
masses of sheer granite rise from their reflections In
the blue water like delicious pastels, while in every direc-
tion the lofty pines of the forest troop down the moun-

188

Yosemite Valley and the Big Trees

tain slopes like an army on the march. I have witnessed
sunsets on Maggiore and Como that were lovely. But
I can only hope this book will fall into the hands of one
who has raved over Como and Maggiore but has never
been west of the Rockies. I know what will happen.

Statistics show that Lake Tahoe is 23 miles long
by 13~wide with an astounding depth of 1645 feet ; that
the steamer travels 67 miles in circumnavigating its
shores ; that it lies on the crest of the Sierras, midway
between California and Nevada., over 6000 feet above
sea-level. But the thing that defies description is its
color. It is beyond words ; it means something different
to every person who looks at it. The nearest I can come
to conveying its quality to you is to say that I cannot
imagine where Maxfield Parrish got his blues and pur-
ples if it wasn't from Tahoe either Tahoe or Crater
Lake. As far as I know, their colors are to be found no-
where else. The story is told at Tahoe Tavern of a
credulous tourist who having been told that the water
from the lake was so blue that it could be used for writ-
ing, filled his fountain pen with it. He saw nothing in
the story to excite disbelief. And when you see it for
the first time, you won't be inclined to laugh at him.

I haven't said anything about the length of your
stay at Lake Tahoe. Perhaps it will suffice to suggest
that nine-pound Loch Leven trout are not uncommon
on a fly rod, and that the Mackinaw variety of lake
trout have been caught up ta thirty-one pounds in
weight while an abundance of rainbow and eastern brook
trout may be landed from the Truckee River, Tahoe's
outlet down the mountain-side which vanishes in the

189

Trails Through the Golden West

sands of the Nevada desert. If the time should come
when you fancy a camping and fishing trip in the
High Sierra, I suggest that you investigate the Mono
Lake country on the eastern slopes. You can outfit
with a pack-train and guides at any one of a half-dozen
points and camp out all summer if you like, in a fas-
cinating scenic and trout-fishing country, without ever
once descending to the floor of ancient Owens Valley.
That's where all the trout-sharks from Los Angeles and
vicinity go for real sport. And, with a terrain of 400
miles along the slopes of that mighty range, there will
be plenty of room for you and your party without
crossing your cast with that of a competing sportsman.
You can take your choice of Mono Lake, June, Mam-
moth, Hilton, Rock Creek, Bishop Creek, Cottonwood
canyon after canyon, with tributary streams all on
the eastern slope, not to mention the Yosemite Valley
country over the range. You'll have all the room you
want, and trout as well. That bunch of western trout-
waddies in the Owens Lake country like nothing better
than to show a "guy from the East' 5 what real trout-
fishing is. You'll never hear of a sportsman returning
from that country with the report, "I had a lot of fun
even if I didn't catch any fish." If you are really inter-
ested, a note to the secretary of the Chamber of Com-
merce of any one of the following Owens Valley towns in
the Golden State will bring you detailed information;
Lone Pine, Independence, Big Pine, Bishop, and Bridge-
port,

190

I

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

N majesty of approach there isn't a mountain in the
United States to compare with that magnificent ex-
tinct volcano, Shasta. It is also the only one of our truly
great peaks that can be viewed in its entirety from a
railway train. If there were nothing else to be seen
from the car-window along the 771 miles from San
Francisco to Portland over the Southern Pacific Route,
Shasta would justify the trip. So immense is its area
(the circumference measures 100 miles) that it almost
dwarfs its great height 14,400 feet above sea-level.
Springing from a cluster of a hundred diminutive vol-
canoes, this extinct monster rises in lonely grandeur
from a broad volcanic plain, part forest, part grassy
meadows, hundreds of square miles in extent, as the
one undisputed landmark of the Pacific Coast.

It companions the traveler who is taking his scenery
"on the run" for five hours of uninterrupted delight,
along a distance of ninety-seven miles from where it
first breaks on the sight, at the little town of Castella,
to the summit of the Siskiyous. No mountain in the
world affords the traveler such an opportunity for

191

Trails Through the Golden West

close acquaintance from so many different points of view.
Barring such a sight as might be had from an air-
plane, the moving train brings the mighty pile before
the eye in its complete magnificence a moving picture,
as it were. And by the time you have had your last
glimpse of that glacier-capped dome, and the train
is winding its way down the northerly slopes of the
Siskiyou Range, Shasta will have made a friend of you
for life.

Of the two great peaks that dominate the mountain
systems of the Pacific Coast Shasta in California and
Rainier in Washington, both the same height Shasta's
supremacy lies in the fact that the view of it is un-
obstructed from base to summit ; and this not only from
the railway but for a distance of over 100 miles, as the
crow flies, from the Klamath Lakes to the north and
from the Chico plains on the south. For all its solitary
grandeur and immensity, there is a certain friendliness
about it that never fails to attract the traveler. From
its perpetual glaciers, the turbulent Sacramento River
has gathered the power that for ages has plowed the
somber canyon beside which the railway winds its north-
erly course. Thousands of years of melting snows, ac-
companied by the sediment deposited by the grinding
glaciers, have clothed the vast lava-flows on its slopes
with dense forest growth and verdure, while from its
base innumerable springs and copious streams have
created the fertile valleys by which it is surrounded.

There has been a marked increase in the number of
travelers in recent years who have stopped off for a
better acquaintance with this friendly monster, as well

192

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

as for their introduction to the rudiments of mountain-
climbing, which is very simple on Shasta's slopes and
can be undertaken without risk to life or limb. The
train sets you down at Mount Shasta City station,
in lovely Strawberry Valley. This is about twelve miles
from the summit and is the point from which the finest
view is to be had of the two great extinct craters which
form Shasta's double peak. Twenty-three beautiful
mountain lakes in the vicinity, all fed by Shasta's melt-
ing snows, add to the attractions of this lovely spot.
Horses and guides for exploring, hunting, or mountain-
climbing are always available.

Bearing in mind that Shasta rests on a vast plain
3000 feet above sea-level, you have just that much less
distance to climb on your way to its lofty summit. It
is a most inspiring eight-mile trail that leads through
the dense forest-growth up to the edge of timber-line
where you camp for the night. Your mountain horse,
your comfortable Mexican saddle, your guide, and a
pack-horse carrying your blankets and enough grub
for a couple of days these will offer you an expedition
which, for all you know, may be the starting point for
an entirely new life. Can you picture yourself in camp
at an elevation of 8000 feet on the slopes of one of
the most magnificent mountains in this hemisphere, sit-
ting beside a campfire, with the Great Bear stalking
across the skies immediately overhead, so brilliant that
you can count the stars in his trail? All in a silence so
deep that you can almost hear the Pleiades singing?

Shasta has two craters. A view of one will suffice,
not only for Shasta himself but for any other mountain

193

Trails Through the Golden West

you are likely to climb. A glance into that awesome
crater, a mile in diameter by a thousand feet deep, will
give you all the thrills you will want for the rest of your
life. You will find it reassuring to realize that it is
an extinct crater. Precipitous slopes, covered with tre-
mendous masses of shattered lava shrouded in snow,
terminate at the bottom of the pit in a smaller crater
a few hundred feet high, indicating its final volcanic
activity. And paradoxical as it may seem, at the
lowest point, beside the smaller crater, lies a diminutive
lake frozen over with a veritable pall of black ice.
Extinction personified ! A terrific scene.

To the north rises the great snow-capped cone of the
mountain. Intervening yawns an immense canyon
through which a huge, serpentine glacier winds like
some Dantesque monster endowed with life. Dotted here
and there with tremendous masses of lava which have
been dislodged from the lofty precipices above, and
criss-crossed by innumerable bottomless crevasses in
whose icy depths may be descried gleaming tints of
green and blue, it is a daunting and never-to-be-for-
gotten sight. One is thankful for the cheering sunlight
overhead. The unspeakable glory of the sunshine over
Shasta suggests a word of advice : defer your return to
the plain till the forenoon of the day following your
climb to the summit. It will repay you a thousand times
to remain upon those sublime heights until darkness
falls. "Sunset and evening star*' on Shasta are beautiful
beyond words and well worth another night in camp.

If you will take the time to circumnavigate old
Shasta, it will leave memories that may never be blotted

194

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

out. Who ever heard of a good road 100 miles long,
extending completely around a mountain? If such a
thing exists anywhere else in the United States I don't
know where it is. Mayhe you'll elect to go on horse-
back, and give about two weeks to it. Doubtless the
motor-car is on the job these days. I haven't had the
nerve to inquire. But if you catch the "feel 95 of a moun-
tain horse's gait going up Shasta's flanks, it may be
you'll turn your virtuous back on the motor and stay
by the cayuse. You may get a thrill out of following for
a considerable distance the old Emigrant Road, lying on
the east side of the mountain. The ruts of the emigrants'
"prairie schooners" are yet to be seen in the pass about
5000 feet above the floor of the valley. Even before their
time, during the period from 1842 to 1847, Kit Carson,
the famous scout whose exploits you read of during your
school days, conducted the Fremont "Pathfinder" Expe-
dition over this same route, to Sacramento and return
to the Columbia River.

Those were the days when California was Mexican
territory, and war with Mexico was on when Fremont
won his way over the Cascades. He was so far away
from Washington, however, that he knew nothing of the
war and was astonished when the Spanish General
Castro, at Monterey, of whom he undertook to purchase
supplies, met his request with an order to leave the
country pronto. Fremont, with forty mountain men, re-
plied by ^throwing up fortifications on a hill overlooking
the town and defied Castro to do his worst. Inasmuch as
Castro had only 300 soldiers, it seemed the part of
wisdom not to irritate forty U. S. rangers unneces-

195

Trails Through the Golden West

sarily. By the time Fremont got back east in 1848,
California had been annexed to the United States.

While you are on this side-trip through historic coun-
try it may be worth your time to journey forty miles
farther northwards to Tule Lake for a visit to the
famous lava beds, from which "Captain Jack" and his
Modoc braves successfully defied the U. S. Army troops
for months in 1872. It is interesting to see how ad-
mirably a fiendish lava-flow lent itself to the formation
of ati impregnable fortress and how clever the Modoc
Indians were in taking advantage of it. The uneven sub-
sidence of the lava created a number of redoubts, full
of natural loop holes, some of which are open and others
covered. All of them are connected by a number of
corridors opening into spacious chambers, one of which
was occupied by the bloodthirsty Captain Jack himself.
They were finally dislodged from their "position by shells
from a cannon which had been mounted on a raft and
pushed out into the lake within range of the stronghold.
The capture and hanging of Captain Jack and three
of his "bad-men" followed. But lying below a 500-foot
cliff of black lava, the crude little graveyard with thirty
mounds and rough headboards, 'the epitaphs on which
have become illegible with the years, tell a melancholy
story of the cost of the campaign a cost that included
the death of General Canby, who was treacherously
slain under a flag of truce while trying to bring about
a peaceful conclusion.

The passing of sixty years makes little difference in
the appearance of lava, and the plan of attack and de-
fense is as clear to the eye today as though it had taken

196

Overhanging Rock, nearly four thousand feet above
the valley, offers one of the most spectacular views
in Yosemite National Park.

o

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

place within the last fortnight. You needn't visit Hercu-
laneuna and Pompeii in order to see the devastating effect
of lava. There is a much more theatric setting in the
vicinity of Mount Shasta. And when you recall that the
level of those vast plains round about its base is 3000
feet above the sea and that they are covered with lava
cinders and pumice to great depths, you may imagine
the volcanic activities of this giant in earlier days.
Glorious Shasta, serene and immutable, its silvery dome
silhouetted against the deep blue of a California sky,
is a mute challenge to man's pettiness and an appropri-
ate sentinel for the most spectacular body of water in
all the world, whither we are bound : Crater Lake.

The most impressive characteristic of the West's nat-
ural wonders is the individuality of each of them. In
that vast panorama that spreads out from Arizona to
the Golden Gate and from the Mexican border to the
Canadian line, we would expect to come occasionally
on something like repetition or duplication, but we
never do. And each of us, as he goes from one breath-
taking sight to another, will find that some of them are
staying in his memory as his favorites. Speaking for
myself, the glory of Shasta throws into the shadow
every other mountain the country over. To me that
snow-crowned monarch, raising his massive head in
splendid isolation^ is the scenic lode-star of the Pacific
Coast, in a class by himself, superbly unique and so ac-
cessible as to inspire a feeling of intimacy. For the
traveler's sake, however, we will include him as the leader
of a peerless trio, in the order given: Shasta, Crater
Lake and the Redwood Empire Drive, all closely knit

197

Trails Through the Golden West

and easily reached. You can visit two out of three with
perfect convenience while bound in one direction : Shasta
and Crater Lake, or the Redwood Drive and Crater
Lake.

You may proceed on your way north from Shasta
either by the Cascade or by the Siskiyou lines of the
"Shasta Route" of the Southern Pacific, and enter
Crater Lake National Park by motor-coach either from
Klamath Falls on the Cascade line to the east of the
park, leaving it at Medford on the west and proceed-
ing thence to Portland, or vice versa that is, en-
tering at Medford and leaving at Klamath Falls. Either
way you traverse the section without retracing your
steps or adding to the time consumed. From Klamath
Falls the motor ride is sixty-two miles ; from Medford,
eighty. The roads are perfect and the scenery suffi-
ciently wild and beautiful to justify the ride even if
there were no Crater Lake awaiting your arrival at the
other end.

Crater Lake is not only the most amazing body of
water in the world it is one of the wonders of the
world itself. It has no equal in depth, in the astounding
brilliance of its color or in its terrific setting, either
in the western or the eastern hemisphere. The story of
its origin is so staggering that, were it not for the ac-
tual presence of the lake itself prima facie evidence of
the scientific facts set forth there would be every
reason for doubt. In brief, it is almost too much for the
mind to assimilate.

Ever since the purely accidental discovery of Crater
Lake, nearly eighty years ago, scientists have been

198

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

speculating as to the cause of its formation without ar-
riving at a definite conclusion. This astounding "gem
of pure&t ray serene" lies in the very heart of the Cas-
cade Range in southern Oregon, lodged in a mountain
top. Imagine yourself one of the exploring party that
in 1853 went in search of a mythical gold-mine in that
particular section of the Cascades. All day long you
have been climbing a stiff grade, common in mountain-
ous country, far above sea-level, with no more expecta-
tion of running on to a body of water than you would
have of encountering an active volcano. The country
opens out as you rise, and there is nothing especially
noteworthy in the sky-line above, which, so far as you
know, may constitute a divide in this vast, unexplored
region. That is something to determine, and you main-
tain your more or less commonplace progress upwards
until you attain to the height of land with the expecta-
tion of a fairly clear view down the other side.

Instead of having topped out on the summit of a di-
vide, you find yourself on the crest of a tremendous
and apparently limitless circular rampart of sheer
precipice, with an almost vertical drop of from one to
two thousand feet ; a huge cup, as it were, with perpen-
dicular sides. And the first thought that comes into your
mind is that it would prove a fearful prison-house for
any mortal unlucky enough to be caught in it 1 You can
hardly appreciate what a drop of one or two thousand
feet means until you look way down to the lake at the
bottom of this mighty crater, sbc miles in diameter and
nearly twenty in circumference. To quote the words of
John Hillman, the leader of the party that discovered

199

Trails Through the Golden West

the lake in just the fashion above described: "Not until
my mule stopped within a few feet of the rim did I look
down, and if I had been riding a blind mule I firmly be-
lieve I would have ridden over the edge to certain death."
There it lies a lake of an indescribably brilliant in-
digo blue, so startling in its color as to create the im-
pression of artificial impregnation, filling the crater of
an extinct volcano, 6177 feet above the level of the sea
and having the remarkable depth of 1996 feet. As you
look around, you may discover the marks of the fire re-
maining on those mighty walls slashes of reds, browns,
yellows, and grays, which, in combination with the un-
earthly blue of the water in which they are reflected,
present an ensemble without a parallel in the world.
The precipitous character of the crater may be gathered
from the fact that there is but one trail down to the
water, in all the twenty miles of its circumference. A
boat-ride along the edge of the lake enables one to view
close at hand some of the remarkable and contorted
lava formations left behind from the tremendous cata-
clysm that created this beautiful spot. Make a visit also
to the Phantom Ship and Wizard Island. The latter is
a spectacular cinder cone rising nearly 800 feet above
the water-level and is supposed to have been the only
vent left after the terrific explosion that shattered the
original peak. As may be surmised, it rises from the
very depths of the great crater itself and has its own
diminutive crater, over 100 feet deep by 500 in diameter.
The Phantom Ship is a craggy island lying near the
southern shore, whose outline suggests an old-time sail-
ing vessel and which, when viewed in certain lights

200

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

against the background of the cliffs, disappears from
sight; hence the name. Both of these islands may be
visited from the boat, and offer a timely invitation to
the ambitious climber to view the surrounding scenery
from their limited heights.

The supposed origin of Crater Lake is, in retrospect,
fully as interesting as the lake itself and casts an illu-
minating sidelight on the prehistoric volcanic activi-
ties of the Pacific Coast. In that dim period long before
the advent of man, the western extent of the North
American continent was dotted with active volcanoes,
all the way from Mount Baker on the north to Lassen
on the south : Mounts Rainier, St. Helens, Adams, Hood,
Jefferson, Three Sisters, McLoughlin, and Shasta. All
of these have been extinct for untold centuries, with
the exception of Mount Lassen, who still "smokes his
pipe" occasionally.

Among these monster fire-eaters is known to have
been an eleventh peak, supposedly of greater altitude
than any of the rest, upon which the scientists have be-
stowed the posthumous name of Mazama, and whose
mighty vent is now occupied by Crater Lake. It has
been estimated from the configuration of the heights
surrounding the lake, that Mount Mazama pushed his
belching peak fully 16,000 feet into the air, "riding
herd" on all his satellites north and south. Four times
loftier than Vesuvius, was this mighty spouter far
greater than Mauna Loa in the Hawaiian' islands and
half as high again as famed Mount Etna. He is sup-
posed to have survived the Glacial Epoch. Precisely how
the end came is what has puzzled the scientists. Some be-

201

Trails Through the Golden West

lieve that there is every evidence of the internal collapse
of Mazama's cone that the flow of lava down the
slopes of what is left of the mountain indicates that it
was a case of lava breaking through the walls instead
of the characteristic eruption. But considering that
that whole stretch of country from Mount Lassen north,
including California, Oregon, and Washington, is cov-
ered with volcanic ashes to unknown depths, and that
the sides of Shasta and Rainier are practically as deep
in lava-flow as Mazama, this theory has its opponents.
In any case, it is clear that on the day when Mount
Mazama lifted up his voice for the last time, he either
blew off his head to the tune of a section nearly 10,000
feet high by twenty miles in circumference, or else he
swallowed it. Then followed what no scientist has ever
undertaken to explain: the seeping in of that amazing
lake of blue water. Where it comes from, nobody knows.
How it manages to maintain, year after year, a level of
over 6000 feet above the sea, and that appalling depth
of 2000 feet, is equally mysterious. There are no springs
at that elevation that could possibly fill a crater six
miles wide and 2000 feet deep. If the supply is subter-
ranean, minus any apparent inlet or outlet, and if, as
we know, water always seeks its level, what is the strange
conduit or siphon employed by Nature, and what the
source of supply that always keeps this inexpressibly
beautiful and pure body of water at a uniform level
in that vast crater? From time immemorial the Indians
have asked these questions, and that fact incidentally
explains why they have always avoided the spot with
superstitious fear and long disclaimed any knowledge

202

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

of it though actually they had known of it for years.

In order that you may enter into a complete enjoy-
ment of this apparently never-to-be-explained marvel,
the Government has constructed a thirty-five-mile motor
road around the crater where you may park your car
and exercise your camera to your heart's content
morning, noon, or night in the dawn and sunset
changes. You will find they all differ, and you will have
difficulty in deciding which you like best. While the
National Parks System has provided a luxurious lodge
on the rim overlooking the lake, with an abundance of
camp-grounds in all directions, the railroad has wisely
made all tickets north and south on the Shasta Route
interchangeable for the benefit of visitors.

When you arrive at Portland you may spend one
glorious day in a sixty-five-mile motor ride out the
Columbia River Highway, going around Mount Hood
over a fine mountain road. Lovely Multnomah Falls will
make your camera hand tingle. And nearby is a nar-
row canyon leading through the mountain walls, where
-r-if you don't mind risking wet feet you will come
upon a lovely cataract in a setting of bright green.
Your driver will know where it is. Probably it has a
name, but I have forgotten it.

If you are planning to go on to Seattle, and have a
couple of days to spare, a motor run of fifty-seven miles
out to Mount Rainier will be amply justified. It will
necessitate a stop-over for at least one night. Rainier
"the mountain that was God," as it has always been
called by the Indians is another monster that blew off
his peak in the dawn of time. The ride through Para-

203

Trails Through the Golden West

dise Valley under lofty branches of pine, cedar, and
hemlock, with a distant view of the Tatoosh Range and
possibly a bit of a walk up the lower slopes of the moun-
tain itself, will provide memories for a long time. On
a bright day, the summit of Rainier may be seen for
150 miles, and it is a glorious sight from Seattle. The
only difficulty with this magnificent mountain is that
he hides himself, and so does not convey that feeling
of intimacy that is characteristic of Shasta. Unless you
are an experienced mountain-climber, do not attempt
Rainier.

If your plan is to retrace your steps southward after
looking around Portland, this is your opportunity for
taking that very well worth-while drive through the
Redwoods, along the Oregon coast. A night's ride will
bring you to Grant's Pass on the Southern Pacific,
where a roomy motor-coach awaits your arrival; and
you are off for 176 miles of a highly picturesque detour.
Ascending the Siskiyou Range, at whose summit, 2500
feet above sea-level, you cross the State line into Cali-
fornia, you descend by easy stages over a magnificent
roadway, through miles and miles of the loftiest and
most gigantic of the famous Redwoods, some of which
attain a height of 375 feet, In and out you go, up hill
and down dale, past roaring mountain streams where
you could "snake *em out" in five minutes if you had
your rod with you ; through, endless cathedral aisles of
trees meeting overhead, with luxuriant growths of fern
about their bases. The sunshine streams through the
tree-tops and dapples the roadway though sometimes
the tree-tops are so thick that the sun doesn't come

204

Mount Shasta and Crater Lake

through at all. The coach has windows in the roof and
whatever there is to be seen overhead is yours for a
glance. Emerging from the Redwoods, the road winds
along the coast-line, about 150 feet above the sea, and
here the roar of the Pacific breakers drowns that of the
motor. This constitutes one of the most delightful
motor-coach rides that are to be found in the West,
and it covers the distance in only a few hours more than
are required to go by train.

205

Glacier National Park

O ATTEMPT to tell the marvelous story of Glacier
National Park without some reference to geology
would be comparable to performing Hamlet without the
Dane. So I am going to assume that you know as little
about this amazing "Backbone of the World" as I did
on my first visit as little, indeed, as do most of the
thousands of tourists who make a brief sojourn in this
haunt of mystery and beauty every year without really
appreciating its wonders.

Know, then, that Glacier National Park is the most
prodigious exhibit in the world of what is known as a
"fault." Geologically speaking, a fault is a crack or
a fold in the earth's surface, where the land on one
side rises or sinks while that on the other remains sta-
tionary. This is what causes earthquakes. Such a fault
is just as likely to take place on the bottom of the ocean
as on a mountain ridge. It sometimes happens that the
pressure exerted in the bowels of the earth, which causes
the fault, results in the rising land being thrust laterally
over that on the other side of the crack or fold, thus
creating what is known as an overthrust.

206

Glacier National Park

This is what happened in that portion of the Rocky
Mountains that lies in the State of Montana just
south of the Canadian line. This territory of over
1500 square miles was set apart by the National Gov-
ernment in 1910 as Glacier National Park, and thus
there was thrown open to the traveler some of the most
magnificent mountain scenery in the world. The com-
mencement of this tremendous overthrust, according to
the scientists, dates back millions upon millions of years.
Unlike an earthquake, the process was so gradual that
the land rose at the rate of approximately an inch a
year. Infinitely slow though this upthrust was, on the
western side of the fault, there was a terrific relentless-
ness about it that appalls the imagination. The beau-
tifully tinted rocks in red, green, buff, brown, and
orange, lying in the upper strata of the mountain peaks
by which you are surrounded in the park, are Algonkian
in character (next to the Archean the oldest known)
and were laid down as ooze and sediment at the bottom
of prehistoric seas in the very dawn of Time.

As the rocky crust of the earth was thrust upward
from the depths, the consequent overthrust of this tre-
mendous mass was distributed in the form of moun-
tainous rocky ridges, extending thirty to sixty miles
away and lying atop the prairie lands of today which
constitute the eastern extent of the park itself. And
here we have another wonderful paradox, in that this
tremendous outpouring of rocks is superimposed upon
a foundation that is millions of years younger than the
overthrust itself. Here is in very truth an epic drama of
Nature's marvels that is entirely without parallel.

207

Trails Through the Golden West
To find on a mountain-top, 5000 feet above sea-level,
rocks and fossils of the earliest forms of life which
originated, eons and eons ago, at the bottom of a pre-
historic ocean thousands of feet below the surface-
it is this singular phenomenon that puts Glacier Na-
tional Park in a class by itself.

The coming of the Glacial Age pyramided the natural
wonders of this earth in the making, as they were mani-
fested in the vicinity of this overthrust. Imagine great
accumulations of ice filling the valleys of this spacious
hinterland and grinding out the mountain-sides into
immense cirques thousands of feet deep, by miles in
length and breadth; gargantuan "pot-holes," in which
the ice has been replaced by beauteous lakes of heavenly
blue, topped by glistening glaciers, now thousands of
feet overhead, the unearthly brilliance of which led the
Indians to name the place the Land of Shining Moun-
tains.

Think of the prodigality with which Nature has dis-
tributed her gifts. Here in this incomparable display
of rugged grandeur there are ninety glaciers, nineteen
principal valleys, three hundred mountains, two hun-
dred and fifty known lakes, forty rivers and creeks, with
trails, passes, and waterfalls unnumbered. And this vast
aggregation is the result of that overwhelming fault
and overthrust which, in the course of untold millions
of years, came steadily up from the bowels of the earth
and veritably cascaded over the eastern portion of the
mountain range to the plains below. It is these fea-
tures that impart that appearance of immeasurable age
to this corner of the West. With all its beauty, its stun-

208

Glacier National Park

ning magnificence, its towering glaciers gleaming from
their lofty perches on the mountain slopes, its lofty
passes, and bewilderingly blue lakes, we feel the strong
impression driven in on us that Time has been turned
backwards ; that in some mystical and inexplicable man-
ner we have reverted to the very beginning of things.
It is an awe-inspiring impression, as if we had been
admitted into the very sanctum sanctorum of the Great
Architect himself. The traveler who approaches rever-
ently the pathway to such immanent glories departs
with infinitely greater rewards than he does who is
wholly materialistic.

This never-to-be-exhausted Rocky Mountain land of
adventure lies astraddle of the "backbone of the world"
on the main range of the Rockies in Montana, stretch-
ing out to the eastward and the westward from the height
of land which before long will be crossed by the excellent
motor road now in construction by the National Parks
Service. The traveler may approach from either the
east, at Glacier Park station on the Great Northern
Railway, a ride of thirty hours from St. Paul, or from
Belton station on the west, a twenty-hour ride from
Seattle. For the visitor who has a fixed itinerary, com-
prehensive trips by motor-cars and lake launches have
been planned on both sides of the Continental Divide,
taking from one to four days each, and excellent hotels
and chalets await him at the end of each day's jaunt.
Supplementing this mode of travel are saddle-horse trips
of from one to five days for those who prefer them.

The attractive feature of both these methods of
travel is that they may be extended indefinitely for

209

Trails Through the Golden West

those who have the time to spare, from any one of the
various points of arrival and departure. When the
motor road across the divide is completed it will be
possible for the traveler to enter the park from the
east at Glacier Park station, on a widely inclusive
detour and leave it at Belton on the west, or vice versa.

Among all these possibilities of joyful wandering
there is one outstanding experience that no traveler
with sufficient leisure and appreciation of a good saddle-
horse should overlook: a ride along the crest of the
divide from which he may view the endless panorama
both east and west. At certain places along this lofty
pathway the glaciers of olden time, located in close
juxtaposition on either side of the divide, carried on
their grinding operations to the point of nearly break-
ing through the rocky walls that separated them, and
here the width of the trail is a matter of a few feet. In
other spots the break was actually made, creating some
of the most awe-inspiring mountain-passes in all the
Rocky Mountain system. This is another of those re-
markable features that differentiate Glacier Park from
all other mountain scenery in the United States.

But these places can be approached only on horse-
back. Out of the seventy-thousand-odd tourists who
visited this place in 1930, there must have been a good
many who had the time and the ability to make a pack-
train trip into those gorgeous upper reaches of the
range and who neglected their opportunity. Indeed
you can pay altogether too high a price for the hum of a
motor and lose what Nature has to offer you. And again,
if only you could know how many great areas are re-

210

Glacier National Park

served by the National Parks Service from the intru-
sion of main-traveled highways, and thus are peculiarly
attractive to travelers afoot or on horseback, you and
your camera would set off for some of these fine sky-
trails, where it is sometimes possible to induce a moun-
tain goat or a Rocky Mountain big-horn to pose for his
picture. Do not think for a moment, however, that I
am depreciating the real advantages of a fine motor
highway through such a sanctuary; it represents a
splendid introductory move, one that makes it pos-
sible for many more persons to enjoy travel in the
wilderness. But the real lover of Nature will hardly be
content with that mode of travel when finer ones are
offered to his more energetic moods.

Owing to the widely distributed and inexhaustible
supply of water from the numerous glaciers in the park,
this section of Montana has from time immemorial been
one of our notable haunts of big game mountain sheep,
goat, elk, moose, black and white-tailed deer, grizzly and
black bear ; as well as lesser animals such as lynx, beaver,
otter, marten, mink, whistling marmot, and porcupine.
This is why it was always regarded as a precious heri-
tage by the Blackfeet Indians, from whom the National
Government purchased it for the handsome sum of
$1,500,000, and who still maintain their tribal home in
the vicinity although their hunting days within park
limits are over. With 1500 square miles of sanctuary,
the four-footed wilderness folk, having nothing worse
than the camera to face, are fast becoming accustomed
to the presence of their two-footed brother, Man. And
I can assure the amateur photographer that there is

211

Trails Through the Golden West

a greater thrill in stalking these wary wild animals with
the camera than there is in doing it with a rifle though
pot-shotting them with a camera from an automobile on
a traveled highway would, of course, hardly rank as
big-game photography. If, however, you make camp
in the upper reaches of the hills and settle down quietly
for a few days, until the animals lose their shyness, you
will get results that will thrill your soul. Fortunately,
these upper reaches are not to he approached by motor-
car. Indeed, if you could get to them by that method, the
gasoline odor would quickly depopulate the neighbor-
hood. Monoxide gas doesn't mix very well with mountain
air in a big-horn's carburetor, and he will put the
Continental Divide between himself and you so fast
that you won't get even a glimpse of him let alone
photograph him.

The beauty spots of this gem of the wilderness are
so numerous and so varied as to render a detailed de-
scription out of the question. There are a select few,
however, which the National Parks management has
linked in a most highly satisfactory combination of
motor highways and lake transportation; a gorgeous
succession of glacier-studded peaks, surrounding sap-
phire-blue lakes like celestial diadems; vast valleys
stretching away into the blue haze of distance; trails
that lead from the water's edge over lofty passes from
which one gets a perspective so exquisitely soft and
tender as to defy description. It seems almost impos-
sible to imagine that such supernal glory of mountain
peak, lake, and canyon could have resulted from the
terrible rigors and life-destroying onslaughts of the

212

o

o
fi

o

13

O

5

-s

,-.
5

05

^ 2

53

CO

5 tJ

a

SJ

3"

HH -S

s

O a

Glacier National Park

Glacial Age. All the more reason for a trip to the sum-
mit of the divide. It is the only spot from which an
all-inclusive view may be added to your store of memo-
ries. Then you will see what fine engineering discrim-
ination has been exercised in making it possible for you
to cover so much of this virginal beauty in a few days.

Off to the west lies lovely Lake McDonald in the
hollow of the Belton Hills, not far from the railway,
with its tumbling inlet reaching back to the Glacier Wall
beneath your feet and its excellent hostelry awaiting
your arrival. To the south, Gunsight Lake nestles at
the foot of its lofty mountain pass of the same name.
Sweeping northwesterly, crest after crest of transverse
ridges divide as many valleys, each containing its own
lovely lakes, gleaming like snowdrops in the morning
light : Logging Lake, Quartz Lake, Bowman Lake, gor-
geous Kintla Lake and Glacier; while to the north,
across the Canadian border, Waterton Lakes lie glitter-
ing in the sun.

Turning to the east with that indescribable "greater
glory" penetrating your whole being, your eyes fill, your
throat tightens, your heartbeats quicken, as you realize
what all the inspired descriptive writing in the world
could not convey to you: the apotheosis of natural
beauty as revealed in the combination of shimmering
blue lakes lying in the laps of verdant valleys and sur-
rounded by flame-tinted, forest-clad mountain ranges,
with a cloud-flecked sky of sapphire over it all. If you
have been one of the travelers whose steps turned to-
ward Europe before you made the acquaintance of the
natural wonders in your own country, you will ask your-

213

Trails Through the Golden West

self, "How could I have done it?" Never mind. The un-
earthly loveliness of Two Medicine Lake and St. Mary's
faces you, Swiftcurrent lies at your feet, and you
are at home at last.

Visitors who have seen the park have often asked me
which spot in it I liked best of all. The query is in itself
a tribute to the place. When a place has so many lovely
spots that one has to stop and think which he likes better
than all the others, that's a testimonial. And it is a
hard question to answer, because each of them is the
loveliest by turn, depending on the time of day, weather
conditions, and other factors. A glacier lake, for in-
stance, changes its aspect under the ever-varying move-
ments of light and cloud it is one thing in the morning,
another at noon, and something quite different when
twilight comes on. The casual visitor seldom gets more
than two views of any spot : when he arrives, and when
he leaves. But however brief his contact is, he is bound
to see some of the places at their best moments, and to
carry away from them a precious and ineffaceable
memory-picture.

Artists are particularly delighted by the gigantic
mountains of deep red argillite, which in the brilliant
sunshine yield a dozen varying tints, companioned by
the blue of the sky and the greenish glint of icy glaciers,
reflected in a jewel of a lake at their feet. Imagine
Swiftcurrent Lake, surrounded by six towering glacier-
clad mountains from 3200 to 4700 feet above its sur-
face, all striped with jade-green and gray. Try to pic-
ture the close of day, with the rays of the setting sun
slanting through ragged holes in lofty crags worn

214

Glacier National Park

through by the attrition of the elements during thou-
sands of years.

From a seat on the veranda of Many Glacier Hotel
see how many glaciers you can count without changing
your position. Then take your camera and wander up the
slopes until you reach a point that will approximate a
horizon line of 180 degrees, and note what your finder
reveals. Journey to the foot of Two Medicine Lake, an
hour's ride from the Glacier Park Hotel, and feast your
eyes on one of the noblest peaks on the continent, in a
setting regal beyond words lordly Mount Rockwell,
monarch of the landscape. Then back off sufficiently to
include those boulders along the lakeshore in your fore-
ground, and you will get a photograph to be proud of.
Take the boat trip on Upper St. Mary's and try to
visualize yourself in the birthplace of the mammoth
glacier that hewed out that amazing gorge for the
benefit of posterity, and be thankful that you are part
of that posterity.

If you are fond of perspective in a mountain and lake
view, don't fail to visit the north end of Waterton Lakes
and train your camera down the middle of it, just be-
tween "wind and water." If you like a bit of civilized
stuff in a wilderness picture move around to the end of
the lake, far enough from the shore to include the high-
way and admit the Prince of Wales hotel into the view ;
it will improve your composition. Then move down to
the southern end of the lake and pay your respects to
royal Mount Cleveland, the tallest peak in the park. I
tell you emphatically that if you are an artist with your
camera or even a neophyte, for that matter you will

215

Trails Through the Golden West

get unimagined thrills out of the various combinations
of pigmented rocky peaks, laving their feet in blue lakes.
Grinnell Lake and Glacier offer an opportunity for a
close enough approach to study glacial action with-
out undue risk. These two gems lie within seven miles of
Many Glacier Hotel, and experienced guides, equipped
with ropes and axes, are furnished for the trip.
Grinnell Glacier is a sort of epitome of the whole glacial
system of the park; and while the climb is strenuous,
it will amply repay you in delight and interest.

Glacier Park has some picturesque Indian nomen-
clature. Think of a glorious mountain peak being
named "Going-to-the-Sun" ! When you look upon it for
the first time, you will understand why the imaginative
Blackfoot gave it such an eloquent title. You can al-
most see the spirit of the great peak spreading its
wings and rising to high heaven, disdaining earthly
things. You will feel humble enough as you follow the
awful lines of that spectacular peak from the jewel-
like lake at its foot to the sky-piercing pinnacle above.

Plan to visit Iceberg Lake before you leave. It is in-
disputably Glacier's wildest and most impressive view.
An appalling cirque, horseshoe in outline, encircled
by sheer cliffs 2700 to 8500 feet high, with gleaming
glaciers hanging to their flanks, which feed a steady,
daily diet of diminutive icebergs to the sapphire lake
at its foot. Such enchanting views are rare, even among
the highest peaks. Some years ago I traveled three days
off the trail to see a similar sight, and I felt well re-
paid for my effort. But what I saw didn't compare with
Iceberg Lake, You can make the trip in a few hours,

216

Yellowstone Park, Our Great Wild-Animal
Sanctuary

IN ITS triple appeal to various kinds of persons
Yellowstone, oldest and probably most famous of
our national parks, stands alone, unmatched. "Rather
a large order!" some sophisticated globe-trotter may
comment ; "sounds like the opening sentence of a high-
power advertisement." Granted and as much more
than that as you feel like adding.

For those who seek the purely spectacular there is
the greatest display of geysers in the world ; there are
more of them here than there are altogether in the
rest of the world.

For the lovers of the beautiful and majestic in
Nature there are Yellowstone's gorgeously painted
canyon, its splendid cataracts, its unparalleled ap-
proaches ; exquisite Tower Falls, Teton Mountains, and
Jackson Lake; and the views from the Continental
Divide and from the summit of Mount Washburn.

For the lovers of wild animals in sanctuary animals
that have forgotten what fear means there are ante-

217

Trails Through the Golden West

lope, elk, moose, deer, grizzly and black bear, and the
shy Rocky Mountain big-horn.

If you doubt whether there are three such distinct
classes of people to whom Yellowstone appeals, start
a little conversation with some friend who has just
returned from a visit to this composite wonderland
and note what particular feature comes to the front.
If he mentions all three at the outset, that simply
proves the existence of a fourth class.

As a nation we have come a long way since the dis--
covery, in 1810, of the Yellowstone hot springs, by
John Colter, a guide with "Pathfinder" Fremont and
the first white man to set foot in that territory ; since
the finding of the geysers in 1830 by that redoubtable
old trapper-scout, Jim Bridger; since Firehole Geyser
Basin was reported in 184*0 by Warren Ferris, a clerk
in the employ of the American Fur Company dis-
coveries, all of them, that resulted in their finders* being
definitely branded as good-natured romancers. In fact,
it was not until the publication of the report of the
Washburn-Langford expedition in 1870 that the truth
of these earlier statements, dating back sixty, forty,
and thirty years respectively, wa established to the
satisfaction of our officials in Washington, The conse-
quence was the creation of Yellowstone as a national
park in March, 1872. A later extension of its bound-
aries authorized by the Congress in JMarch, 1929, has
made Yellowstone the largest of the national parks,
with an area of 3426 square miles or 2,192,640 acres*

Yellowstone Park is located in northwestern Wyo-
ming and extends into Idaho and Montana* Generally

218

Yellowstone Park

speaking, it is an immense plateau, volcanic in char-
acter, and lies 8000 to 8500 feet above sea-level. Of its
fifty-sis well-known mountain peaks, thirty-eight are
over 10,000 feet above the sea. These and its forty-
two lakes, one hundred and sixty streams, twenty-six
waterfalls, and sixty-five geysers most of which are
playing all the time offer the visitor the greatest "con-
tinuous performance" to be found on any natural stage
in the world. To these add several thousand elk, more
than a thousand buffalo, innumerable deer, several hun-
dred moose (steadily on the increase) ; numerous herds
of the big-horn sheep, hundreds of antelope, and grizzly
and black bears galore and we have a zoological
garden without parallel.

There are six distinct geyser basins, in which the
crust is so thin in places as to be unequal to the weight
of a man, indicating what a narrow margin lies be-
tween the danger of actual volcanic conditions and
safety; pathways have been constructed over them
for the benefit of the visitor. These basins are spouting
steam and hot water continuously and suggest a vast
submerged steam-plant with a thousand vents to re-
lieve the high pressure. Some of the "blow-holes" are
terror-striking, with their inenacing roar and rush that
threatens momentarily to rend the whole landscape.

Six hundred and fifty miles of excellent motor high-
ways connect these geyser basins and the picturesque
lake and mountain spots that lie between them. To
see them all requires four and a half days of an itiner-
ary broken only by the time the traveler spends in bed.
But he can prolong this indefinitely by stop-overs at

219

Trails Through the Golden West

fixed points whence nearly 900 miles of horseback trails
lead to the summits of a dozen lofty peaks. And this is
about the only way in which he can get more than a
passing view of the wild animals that roam so fear-
lessly over this sanctuary ; for the bear is the only
member of the Yellowstone family who is found fre-
quently around the hotels and near the motor roads,
his keen nose telling him where he is most likely to
find food. But even if a bear does approach your car,
begging for food, don't imagine that this experience is
what is meant by seeing the wild life of the Yellow-
stone. It is among the upper reaches of the mountains
that you will find the mountain sheep, the shy ante-
lope, all the deer family, and the less sophisticated
bears. Here they are not pestered by the odor of gaso-
line or by the attentions of the peanut-offering tourist.
Many persons mistakenly believe that feeding a bear
will make him friendly. On the contrary, if he likes the
food you give him he is sure to want more, and when
that is not forthcoming he is quite likely to go after
it lie has been known to maul the contents of the
car in his search, frightening the passengers and some-
times even wounding them. No this is anything but a
sure method of making friends with a bear, and the
traveler will do well to heed the warning that is every-
where displayed : Don't Feed the Bears. Those who have
ignored it have sometimes landed in the hospital.

The real charm of closer intimacy with these deni-
zens of the wilderness lies in getting near enough to pho-
tograph them in their natural haunts jiot on a gar-
bage-heap nor smelling around an automobile on a

220

Yellowstone Park

macadamized road. And, with patience, this can be done.
It is amazing how absolutely fearless of man the wild
animals grow when in sanctuary, if the effort to make
friends is not overdone. All the wild folk are shy and
nervous and ready to jump at the slightest invasion of
their vested rights. If you don't force matters by being
in too much of a hurry, you can approach within
twenty-five feet of a mountain sheep, his massive, curl-
ing horns forming an ideal frame for his inquisitive and
beautiful eyes. If it happens that the wind is blowing
from him towards you and he therefore isn't obliged
to continue sniffing the menacing odor thrown off
by the animal Man, so much the better. Also, the less
you move, the sooner he will lose his nervous unrest.
If you will have the patience to sit down under a tree,
with your handkerchief suspended from a branch, you
may have a caller before the day has passed. For your
own personal re-assurance, I may say that I am but
relating some of my own experiences, which are not re-
markable at all. Any one can have the same kind, with
a little patience.

The behavior of wild animals in sanctuary is a sub-
ject of never-failing interest. In Yellowstone the
boundary of their vast retreat is a double row of
blazed trees. You can imagine how far-flung that
"fence" must be to encircle 3426 square miles. And
yet all of them know when they have stepped across
that invisible boundary that spells protection. In addi-
tion, the hunter who approaches within two miles of the
Park limits is quite likely to run into one of the
rangers, with a chance of a jail sentence of thirty or

221

Trails Through the Golden West

sixt'y days. The law also prevents the removal, by the
hunter, of any animal which, having been wounded out-
side the Park limits, met death within them. Let that
hunter beware who, pursuing his game in far-distant
spots, thinks he can follow it across the line. A ranger
with a pair of binoculars glued to his eyes is just as
likely to be hidden on a remote mountain-side as in
more frequented territory indeed, more so.

The same instinct that leads the wild animals to rec-
ognize sanctuary in any section of the Park brings
them down from the mountains in droves to the im-
mediate vicinity of Park headquarters, rangers' cabins,
and outlying ranches for hay in winter when their
natural forage is buried beneath deep drifts of snow on
the slopes, thereby saving themselves from starvation.
You wouldn't think there could be men so base as to
slaughter the lordly elk for his teeth in such circum-
stances. Yet it is only in the last few years that the
Park rangers have finally driven out the heartless and
inhuman poachers who frequented various out-of-the-
way sections of the Park during the winter for that
sole purpose.

To those who may wonder why I devote so much
emphasis to the preservation of the Park's wild life,
let me say that the time is not far distant when
it will be impossible for us to see such animals as these
anywhere throughout the West except inside of our
national parks. Man's thoughtless destructiveness and
commercial rapacity, expanding year by year with our
increasing population, have decreed their extermina-
tion beyond all question, If the National Parks Service

222

Yellowstone Park

has accomplished nothing more than the creation of
sanctuaries for our rapidly disappearing wild life, it
has earned the eternal gratitude of every right-think-
ing man and woman in the United States. For you may
be sure that, outside of the Park confines, your chil-
dren's children will see very few of them, if any at all.

It would.be difficult to imagine a more fitting intro-
duction to the natural wonders of the Park than the
brilliant, symmetrical, and gorgeously colored Mam-
moth Hot Springs, reached from Livingston, Montana,
on the Northern Pacific Railroad, over a winding and
highly picturesque roadway which rises 600 feet in
the mile and a half from Gardiner Gateway to the
Mammoth entrance. Enroute you will note an immense
stream of boiling hot water rushing from a rocky cleft
not far from the road and flowing into the Gardiner
River. This is the accumulated discharge from the Hot
Springs which finds its outlet through subterranean
channels. Take note of the spot it will afford an ade-
quate idea of the voluminous outpouring of these spec-
tacular blue springs, which flow over the edges of their
exquisitely tinted and fluted terraces like a filmy veil.
Throughout unnumbered ages these terraces have
superimposed themselves, one above the other, in cal-
careous deposits, until today the whole stands 300 feet
above the level of the ground. There is nothing quite
like them in the world, and the absolute transparence of
the hot water so definitely takes to itself the blue of the
sky that it would seem to be impregnated.

It is a trifle uncanny to realize that sufficient volcanic
heat lies close to the surface in this marvelous area to

223

Trails Through the Golden West

maintain at a boiling point a tremendous volume of
water that materially heightens the temperature of the
Gardiner River, into which the Springs flow. So it is
all through the Park. All the geysers, the hot springs,
the sputtering "paint pots" and boiling mud holes are
just so many vents that allow for the escape of a
volume of superheated steam which, if confined, would
doubtless manifest itself in some gigantic eruption.

The fact can scarcely be credited, but it is true
that the alabaster-like character of the lips of these
immaculate terraces, occasionally exposed, arouse in
a certain breed of tourist the irresistible desire to in-
scribe his name or intials on them. The Park authori-
ties have devised an effective method of dealing with
these morons which, at least, renders a second offense
exceedingly unlikely. They establish his identity from
the hotel register and despatch a ranger after him. He
may be caught midway through the Park or just leav-
ing from one of the established gateways ; wherever it
may be, he (or she!) is apprehended and brought back
to the scene of his folly. There he is furnished with a
pail of water, a scrubbing brush, and soap, and told to
remove the offending inscription or take a brief term
in the calaboose as a public nuisance. Usually he plies
the soap and brush, and when he has finished, he is
allowed to proceed on his way.

For the special benefit of those visitors who observe
the regular schedule, there is a small buffalo herd kept
during the summer season, within a half-mile of Mam-
moth Springs. Think of a small herd of buffalo consti-
tuting a museum attraction to present-day travelers,

224

Yellowstone Park

and then recall that between fifty and seventy-five
years ago, they were roaming over our great western
prairies by the hundreds of thousands. Yes, we have
learned wisdom just in time and now realize that the
conservation of our wild life even though belated
is far better than extermination.

The twenty-mile run from Mammoth Hot Springs to
Norris Geyser Basin the first stretch of the first day's
trip contains two outstanding features : Obsidian Cliff
and Roaring Mountain. The first is composed of a sort
of volcanic glass, black as coal. In the earlier days,
the Indians gathered here to make arrowheads and
other implements of war from this flint-like substance.
Also you may be interested to know that the original
roadway over which the car bowls along at the foot
of the cliff was itself made from obsidian. It was built
way back in the 5 70's by one of the Park's early super-
intendents, P. W. Norris, who distinguished himself as
a builder of obsidian roads by heating the foot of the
cliff with great bonfires and then dashing water upon
it. Shortly after leaving Obsidian Cliff, your ears will
be assailed by a deep roar, which increases in intensity
as you approach a bleak, denuded mountain on your
left hand: Roaring Mountain, in the peak of which
there is a fearsome crater, from which a volume of
steam escapes with a resounding roar that can be heard
a mile distant. Up to 1902 this mountain was covered
with a magnificent pine forest. Look at its naked slopes
now, and see what may be accomplished by internal vol-
canic heat in the destruction of timber growth.

You must watch your step and hold your nose in

225

Trails Through the Golden West

Norris Geyser Basin. If you stray from the board
walk, you will probably break through the brittle crust
and have a pair of scalded legs as a result. The sul-
phur-laden atmosphere may be somewhat offensive to
the over-fastidious traveler, but you will doubtless see it
through. In comparison with the Firehole Geyser Basin
toward which you are bound it is of minor importance,
but it serves adequately as an introduction. Small gey-
sers and various springs abound in every direction. Two
remarkable steam vents, the Black Growler and the
Hurricane, are continually changing their schedules
with the years, owing doubtless to certain stoppages ;
these eventually clear up and the display returns to
the old stand. That these geyser basins are anything
but stationary is one of their attractions. A geyser that
has been spouting regularly for years suddenly ceases,
and a new one breaks out somewhere else.

Prominent among such is the Imperial Geyser, with
its huge crater which, after years of inactivity, started
to play with tremendous force in the summer of 1928,
and maintained its prodigious flow for somewhat over
a year. Every twelve to fifteen hours old Imperial would
burst forth with a roar and spout to a height of 100
to 125 feet for periods of from four to five hours,
throwing out 500,000 to 2,000,000 gallons of hot water
at a single eruption. Not far from Imperial you come
upon three of the big features of the Midway Geyser
Basin: Excelsior Geyser, Prismatic Spring, and Tur-
quoise Pool. Excelsior blew its head off in 1888, since
when it has ceased to play, Its crater is now one of the
largest hot springs in the world, No one knows, how~

226

Yellowstone Park

ever the day may come when Excelsior will resume
operations. To look at its crater, one would scarcely
think that it could ever have been the vent of a geyser ;
it resembles a steaming lake more than anything else
today.

Apart from the spectacular and tremendous erup-
tions of these various geysers, their real artistic attrac-
tion lies in their beautiful craters. That of the Great
Fountain, for instance, in the Norris Basin, is in the
shape of a two-foot-high pedestal composed of silicious
deposit. Around the central pool on the surface of this
broad pedestal are numerous smaller pools, filled with
beautifully tinted hot water. The margins of these
smaller pools are ornamented in a variety rivaling that
of the Mammoth Springs. When the Great Fountain
stirs itself, its stream reaches a height sometimes ex-
ceeding a hundred feet. This is one geyser that should
not be overlooked by the traveler, and let us hope it
may be spouting during your visit.

There are too many of these geysers to try to describe
them all, and your own interest in this one or that,
when you visit the Park, will naturally depend on which
ones are active at the time. And this brings us to the
consideration of the dominant attraction of the Upper
Geyser Basin everybody's favorite Old Faithful,
known the world over for its unfailing regularity year
in and year out, ever since the discovery of the Park.
Every sixty-five minutes, almost to the second, Old
Faithful breaks forth with, a subdued swish somewhat
like the sound of water issuing under high pressure
from a hose; at the outset with apparent effort, and

227

Trails Through the Golden West

then just as if it had struck its stride it lifts that
scintillating stream high, from 100 to 150 feet, with a
fascinating ease and grace. You can almost hear it say :
"Thought I couldn't do it, eh? Why, this is the easiest
thing in the world 1" And you feel like applauding.

You will wander around and admire the other great
geysers, some of them monsters: Giant, throwing a
stream that is the highest of any in the world 200 to
250 feet; Grand, Castle, Grotto, Beehive, Rocket,
Giantess, Splendid, Riverside. But when you have seen
all these you will return to Old Faithful for one last
view before you depart. And no wonder. It is one of
Nature's sublime mysteries. No scientist can tell you
when Old Faithful began to spout, though it certainly
reckons its life by the thousands of years. It was the
first geyser to welcome the white man to Yellowstone,
and to our certain knowledge it has been raising its
pellucid stream into the air every sixty-five minutes for
more than a hundred and twenty years. In such cir-
cumstances even an inanimate thing can acquire a
personality, even inspire something like affection
and so it has been with Old Faithful,

Exquisite gems of beauty, in various parts of the
geyser basins, will be found in those indescribably bril-
liant springs, such as Prismatic, Turquoise, Sapphire,
Morning Glory, and Punch Bowl all with daintily
fretted and beautifully painted borders enclosing blue
and green waters of amazing resplendence. You will
want to linger by them all, knowing that you can never
see anything so divinely lovely anywhere else*

When you leave the geysers your route takes you
228

Northern Pacific Ry.

The Grand Canyon and the Great Falls are two of
the most beautiful wonders of Yellowstone. The en-
closing cliffs are colored with the most brilliant shades
of reel, orange, yellow and purple.

The forest rangers must constantly supervise en-
forcement of the game laws, the upkeep of roads,
bridges and telephone lines, and the directing of fire
patrol measures.

Yellowstone Park

to the summit of the Continental Divide, 8262 feet
above sea-level, and from this outlook you get your first
glimpse of Yellowstone Lake at your feet and the lofty
peaks of the Teton Mountains on the distant horizon.
If you possibly can, make a side trip to the Tetons and
Jackson Lake at their feet. This "Jackson's Hole"
country, as it has been familiarly called for many years,
contains some of the most impressive scenery in all the
Rocky Mountain system. Jackson Lake, in whose placid
surface the lofty peaks of the Grand Tetons are glori-
ously reflected, is Golconda for the amateur photog-
rapher. These towering peaks, the highest of which
has an altitude of 13,747 feet above sea-level, can be
clearly seen from the Continental Divide seventy miles
distant. It was the height of the Grand Teton and the
ease with which it may be identified that made it a
landmark for the trappers as far back as 1830. It is
one of the most difficult mountains to climb of which
there is any record.

The Government's action in setting aside the "Grand
Teton National Park and Jackson's Hole" in 1929
meant that a good motor road would shortly follow.
The mountain is but twenty-seven miles outside Yellow-
stone's limits and can be reached in a couple of hours.
Many artists regard this remarkable view as second
only to the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone itself.
During the "Winning of the West" the rugged char-
acter of this country made it an ideal hiding-out place
for various criminals ; hence the name Jackson's Hole,
which it has borne for years and years. In addition to
its natural attractions, it is the home range of the larg-

229

Trails Through the Golden West

est herd of elk in the United States, approximating
35,000. Excellent accommodations for visitors are
available at Teton Lodge and Jackson Lake Lodge,
near the shores of the lake. This is a richly worth-while
side trip and should not be neglected by any one who
can possibly manage it.

Yellowstone Lake, with a shore line of 100 miles,
a depth of 300 feet, and an area of 139 square miles,
and lying 7740 feet above sea-level, is next to the high-
est body of water in the world, its only rival being Lake
Titicaca in the Peruvian Andes. It is fitting that such
a magnificent body of fresh water should be separated
from the Park geyser basins by a mountain range. Hav-
ing said good-bye to the spectacular volcanic manifes-
tations, you will, from now on, be drinking in all the
lovely aspects of Nature in her gentler moods. An in-
teresting perversity, however, interrupts a, complete
change of scene. As you round the lake, you pass one
of those freakish volcanic vents, an odd survival in
these sylvan surroundings and the only one in the
vicinity. Its crater emerges from the surface of the
lake a few feet from the shore. Here, if so inclined,
you may hook a trout from the cold waters of the
lake and, without changing your position, drop him
while still on the hook into the boiling water of the
crater and cook him. I have seen the thing done, but I
never stayed long enough to test the flavor of a fish
cooked under such conditions-

The day finishes at the Lake Hotel, near the outlet,
where the far-famed Yellowstone River has its source.
Trout-fishing galore here, boat-trips in all directions,

280

Yellowstone Park

But we are going on for a day or two at Yellowstone
Falls and the Grand Canyon. The highway meanders
for fourteen miles through beautiful and pastoral Hay-
den Valley, where you may espy a herd of elk or spot
a bear snuffling along some stream in search of a fish.
Now and then the river comes into view, and it isn't
long before you hear the roar of the rapids mingled
with that of the Upper Falls. You will wish to descend
the steps leading down to the crest and see how that
tremendous volume of water, having been compressed
into a channel fifty feet in width, instead of flowing
over the brink for its 118-foot drop leaps far out with
a roar and a velocity that creates the impression of a
rocky inclined plane underneath instead of a perpen-
dicular cliff.

A ride of a few hundred yards brings you to the
crest of the Lower Fall, revealing a magnificent vista
three marvelous features : the tremendous cataract at
your feet, the flaming canyon walls beyond, and the
rushing river below. Grandeur is the word for it and
yet you can take it in, in one view, practically in its en-
tirety. The perspective is perfect. The river channel
has widened out somewhat since leaving the Upper Fall,
and the turmoil of constricted water has given way to
a sweeping sublimity of approach that laya hold on
the imagination. As you stand beside the mighty brink
and look down into that deafening tumult 310 feet be-
low, enveloped in clouds of spray that rise a hundred
feet or more, your spirit is subdued and you fall silent.

Every color in the spectrum has a place on the walls
of that overwhelming canyon. It is the despair of

231

Trails Through the Golden West

writers, painters, and photographers. Compared with
other famous canyons its dimensions are not impres-
sive: 2000 feet wide at the crest, 200 at the bottom,
and 1200 feet deep. But measurements mean absolutely
nothing here. What is impressive is the gorgeous, over-
powering color unbroken from top to bottom by vegeta-
tion of any kind a vast Persian rug, gleaming and
scintillating, subject to momentary change as the sun
travels across the sky and the fleecy clouds intervene
to intensify or soften its kaleidoscopic mutations.

The ideal way out of the Park is over Mount Wash-
burn, from whose lofty summit 10,317 feet high you
may take a comprehensive farewell of Yellowstone.
From here you go on to hidden Tower Falls, with its
sequestered canyon, and then a hundred miles to the
Cody (Wyoming) entrance, through Soda Butte Can-
yon with its remarkable examples of erosion, and past
herds of antelope. Your exit will lead you through stu-
pendous Shoshone Canyon with its famous reclamation
idam, which cost $1,356,585 in 1908 and whose im-
pounded waters have since that time made possible the
raising of $18,250,000 worth of crops.

As you skirt beauteous Shoshone Lake, just remem-
ber that the gorge at the head, now blocked by the cele-
brated dam, was worn through by the rushing waters
of its prehistoric progenitor thousands of years ago.
Strange that the hand of man should restore what
Nature destroyed ! The tunneling of the mountain into
which the dam is built, in order to provide an exit
through impressive Shoshone Gorge, was one of the
dreams of Buffalo Bill when he founded the little town

282

Yellowstone Park

of Cody that lies a few miles beyond the dam. You
will enjoy looking around this unspoiled town, with
its atmosphere of the departed West. Perhaps Cody
will be celebrating its annual rodeo at the time; if so
it would be greatly worth your while to stay over a
day and see the cowboys do their stunts. The road
passes the magnificent statue of Buffalo Bill executed
by the well-known sculptor Mrs. Harry Payne Whit-
ney, on the way to the Burlington Route station. The
little town has taken on a new lease of life since the
completion of the Cody Highway into the Park and
the consequent gratifying increase in the number of
visitors to Cody, who use the Shoshone Lake route as
an entrance and leave by way of Mammoth Hot
Springs. Incidentally Deer Creek Pass, which is only
fifty miles from Cody, is the entrance to that part of
Wyoming where elk-hunting is at its best.

233

Zion Park and Bryce Canyon

AMONG all the brilliant color effects and all the curi-
osities of erosion in our scenic Southwest, there
are few sights to surpass the glories of Zion and Bryce
Canyons, upon which the National Parks Service has
already expended over $2,000,000 in rendering them
accessible to the traveling public. These two national
parks, situated in the state of Utah 215 miles south
of Salt Lake City, constitute a portion of the sedi-
mentary deposit left by a tremendous prehistoric lake
Bonneville by name dating back to the Glacial Age
millions of years ago. This lake included the western
half of Utah and a portion of eastern Nevada and
southern Idaho. It was about the size of Lake Huron
and covered an area of 20,000 square miles, with a
shore line of over 2500 miles and a maximum depth
of over 1000 feet. The well-defined wave-cut cliffs and
terraces on the slopes of the Wasatch Mountain Range,
1000 feet above the level of Great Salt Lake (which
is the shrunken remnant of it), afford an idea of the
size of this ancient inland sea, which poured its surplus

Zion Park and Bryce Canyon

waters into the Columbia River and was eventually
dissipated by evaporation.

In the course of time there followed one of those
great faults in the earth's crust. It is known as the
Hurricane Ledge, and it resulted in the subsidence of
over 2000 feet of a vast territory, leaving to the east
a lofty plateau with ragged edges. This plateau, for-
merly the bottom of the great lake, displayed as
though on a magnificent canvas exposed strata that
were brilliantly colored with broad sweeps of bright
red, the white of limestone, mauves, browns, greens and
grays, superimposed on each other. And then the
Mukuntuweap River began its work, cutting its way
from the top of the plateau, like a huge band-saw, down
through the cliff until it reached the level of the sunken
portion of the fault to the west. Thus, Zion Canyon
was hewed out in much the same way in which the Grand
Canyon was dug by the Colorado River. The geologists
tell us that this denuding process will unquestionably
continue for ages to come, until the whole vast plateau
of which Zion and Bryce Canyons are an integral part
will be literally swept away.

Such is the picture that greets the eye of the visitor
as he arrives by motor-coach after a fifty-mile ride
from Cedar City through country that runs both of
these stunning canyons a close second in point of un-
usual attractions. During the trip the highway has
dropped 2000 feet from the level of the plateau to the
foot of Hurricane Ledge towering overhead. You can
scarcely realize, as you take in that blinding sweep
of color, that the erosion of the general level of that

235

Jrails Through the Golden West

lofty plateau has been keeping pace with the incessant
gnawing of the river in dividing it into sections. There
was a time when the summit of that 2000-foot uplift
was anywhere from 2500 to 5000 feet higher than it
is today. And in proportion to the amount of detritus
swept from the upper level, the lower one has been in-
creased in height. During the motor run one passes
through many of the little Mormon farms, splendidly
productive, with their rich soil and abundant irriga-
tion. As the road turns to the north from the Virgin
River Canyon, it enters a veritable HelPs Kitchen of
extinct volcanic craters and vents, black and forbidding
with ominous lava flows that look as if they might have
been active within the year. A strange interlude, indeed,
between the verdant greenery of the Mormon farms and
the startling barrage of color that awaits your first view
of Zion Canyon. Two great masses of stratified rock
constitute the gateway to this remarkable spot; The
Watchman, 2500 feet high, to the right ; and the mag?
nificent West Temple of the Virgin, a thousand feet
higher, to the left both afire with the sun's rays.

Farther to the north, closely grouped, rise four
sightly peaks known as the "Four Towers of the
Virgin," one of which is spectacularly capped with
white limestone brilliantly stained with crimson, almost
startling in its intensity and aptly named the Altar
of Sacrifice, Contemplating the canyon from where
you stand ; seven miles long by a half-mile wide at the
bottom and double that at the top, flaming 1 walls on
either side, with an elevation of 3000 feet, you will ap-

286

Zion Park and Bryce Canyon

predate why Brigham Young, famous Mormon leader,
canie to name it "Little Zion."

f Anticipating a possible Indian invasion which might
drive his people out of Salt Late City, the redouhtahle
Brigham selected this hidden spot as a refuge capable
of comparatively easy defense: a diminutive "City of
God," so to speak. And you will concede that there is
ample justification for the sacred atmosphere with
which the Mormons invested it. It is indeed "Beautiful
Zion," 1 without exaggeration.

On the left as we enter the canyon, the wondrously
eroded red walls are streaked with white. This odd com-
bination is the famous Vermilion Cliff, which stretches
away over the desert for a hundred miles, with a lime-
stone deposit at this particular point. Spectacular in-
deed, two thousand feet of radiant red sandstone as a
foundation for a thousand feet of white limestone. Such
is the general color scheme throughout the canyon,
which differentiates it from all others. Across the river
on the opposite side, the Mountain-of-the-Sun rises
in lordly splendor the first peak to catch the rays of
the rising sun, and the last to reflect its setting. Close
at hand are the Twin Brothers and majestic East
Temple, with its massive truncated peak winged on
either side by a cone-shaped peak and an elongate^
pyramid of lesser altitude an impressive mass of ex-
quisite proportions. Opposite and still farther up, the
canyon widens somewhat, forming the Court of the
Patriarchs-, dominated by a trio of jagged summits in
red and white, somewhat suggestive of the famous Three

287

Trails Through the Golden West

Brothers in Yosemite Valley. They rear their lofty
crests more than 2000 feet above the canyon floor.

Two miles beyond stands in lonely majesty the most
striking and gorgeous peak of the whole region: The
Great White Throne a mighty truncated uplift of
limestone 2500 feet in height, with a palisade-like base
of blood-red sandstone, around the foot of which both
the Mukuntuweap River and the roadway make a wide
and impressive sweep. The contrast in colors is star-
tling. It is the grand sentinel of the valley and seems to
say: "Thus far shalt thou go and no farther." Across
the river Angels Landing, almost as large but not so im-
pressive, completes a magnificent pageant. From the
gateway below, up to this point, Nature has staged a
march of splendor that attains its climax in these
two phenomenal peaks. There she conducts you around
the great bend of the Mukuntuweap and past a pro-
jecting rock formation known as the Great Organ
a name whose aptness will be immediately apparent
and ushers you into the mystic Temple of Sinawava.

Here is an amphitheater of verdant loveliness, hedged
in by walls that seem to close behind as you proceed*
Contrasted with the stark beauty of desert rock with
its unforgettable hues, this Eden-like spot is a distinct
relief. Not that the colors of the encircling walls are
less lustrous, but that they are softened by the re-
poseful green of deciduous trees and accompanying
vegetation with which the floor of the enclosure u cov-
ered. In the center of this lovely open-air temple stand
two massive stone pillars, the larger of which is called
the Altar and the smaller one the Pulpit* You will note

288

Zion Park and Bryce Canyon

on one side of the Altar a remarkable human face in
profile, known as the Guardian of the Temple, which
undergoes various changes in expression as you draw
near. Here the motor highway ends : a fitting close to a
wonderful experience. The canyon continues, however,
with steadily narrowing walls, through which a foot-
path has been constructed beside the river for a mile
farther, to a point where the stream fills the space be-
tween the vertical walls and further progress can be
made only on horseback.

(Up to this time, you understand, you have been on
the floor of the canyon, looking up 2000-odd feet. A
survey having established the feasibility of trails on the
plateau above so that the traveler might have a bird*s
eye view of this gorgeous hinterland, the building of one
of the most remarkable motor roads in the United
States followed in which some stupendous difficulties
were overcome. This road has multiplied the pleasure of
a trip to Zion Park a thousandfold. It is known as the
Zion-Mount Carmel Highway, and its twenty-four miles
cost the National Government the sum of $1,500,000.
The great engineering problem in the construction of
this road was getting it up to and through the
lofty cliffs overlooking the canyon. From its start on
the floor of Pine Creek Canyon it ascends the shale
slope in a series of six switchbacks, constituting three
and a half miles of roadway and occupying an area a
mile long by a half-mile wide.

At the summit of the zigzags the highway enters a
tunnel a mile in length which closely follows the face of
the cliff, through which six window galleries have been

239

Trails Through the Golden West

cut, opening on wonderful views of the heights across
the canyon and the depths below. This Zion-Mount
Carmel road forms a connecting link between the Arrow-
head Trail and U. S. Highway No, 89 leading south
from Salt Lake City, and enables the motorist to visit
Zion and Bryce canyons successively, whether traveling
north or south and without having to take the round-
about way that was unavoidable before the road was
constructed. It may also be reached from the south-
east via Lee's Ferry Bridge over the Grand Canyon,
passing through Fredonia and Kanab. By rail Zion
is reached from either Cedar City (Utah) on the Union
Pacific, or Marysvale, (Utah) on the Denver & Rio
Grande Western Railway* Three lodges in the canyon
are ample for the accommodation of visitors, for either
a short or an extended stay.

Indicative of the scenic wonders of these two remark-
able canyons and their surroundings, it is interesting
to note that 190 miles of motor roads have been con-
structed, extending from Cedar City completely around
Zion and including all that tremendously eroded coun-
try lying between the Pink Cliffs on the north (of which
Bryce is a part) and the Vermilion Cliffs on the south.
In between is an extensive territory containing several
plateaus as spectacular as Hurricane Ledge, with a
network of practically inaccessible canyons created by
the same agency that wrought Zion, In the vicinity
have been discovered a petrified forest, a number of
cliff-dwellings, and some great arches, the most impos-
ing of which is situated in Pine Creek Canyon in Zion
Park 720 feet long by 580 feet high, cut like an in-

240

Zion Park and Bryee Canyon

taglio, ninety feet into the great cliff of which it is a
part. In brief, the motor roads from Cedar City pass
through a series of natural spectacles which are nearly
as important as Zion itself and form a most fitting in-
troduction to that diminutive gem.

In contrast with these purely desert conditions,
Dixie National Forest, through which the motor road
passes to the north, offers a restful change to the eye.
Here we find a combination of pigmented rock and
amazing fertility, rolling hills where pines and cedars
flourish, and a plenitude of arable land that will pro-
duce almost anything a farmer could desire, including
cotton. This country was settled by the Mormons in
the 5 60 J s, since when it has changed but little. Many
of these peculiar folk are still active on their diminutive
farms that are kept alive by irrigation. Some of
them have never seen a railway train. To them <f Little
Zion" still carries its religious flavor, and their lives
are as completely dominated by the Mormon church to-
day as they were sixty years ago. From the heights of
Cedar Breaks, a vast amphitheater 2000 feet deep and
covering sixty square miles, edged by the forest,
to Bryce on the north or Zion on the south, the trav-
eler passes through scenery so kaleidoscopic in char-
acter as to keep both mind and eyes concentrated on
the passing show. He will have covered so much ground
that the modest sixteen miles of motor roads within
the limits of Zion itself will seem not very impressive.
What that little jewel of a canyon lacks in road mile-
age, however, it makes up for in twenty-six miles of
thrilling horseback trails and footpaths.

241

Trails Through the Golden West

It will be remembered that this general section of
Utah lies from five to ten thousand feet above sea-
level and that the most memorable sensations are to
be had when we get up high on the peaks and plateaus
and look off and down, instead of being pent within the
limits of a canyon where no matter how beautiful it
is we have to look up for the most part. It may there-
fore be said that in traversing Zion Canyon's seven
miles and a half in a car, our sight-seeing has only just
begun. In that vast Vermilion Cliff in the vicinity of
Zion Canyon, there have been eroded eight other can-
yons, of great beauty, as a result of the Hurricane
Ledge fault, some of them ranking a close second to
Zion itself. And while there might possibly be a same-
ness in visiting them all on the same general level, there
is no such possibility from a lofty view 2000 feet higher,
among the peaks and the high trails where the erosion
originally began hundreds of thousands of years ago.

Riding the horseback trail up to the West Rim, which
leaves the canyon floor at Angels Landing, is a thrill-
ing experience. Hewn in the face of almost sheer cliffs,
winding through deep and awesome gorges in behind the
canyon walls, it trails along over sandstone formation
for two miles before it finds a suitable place to make
its final ascent to the rim. I shall make no attempt to
describe the view further than to say the traveler who
limits himself to what may be seen from the motor-
coach, on the floor of the canyon, can have no concep-
tion of what he is missing nigged grandeur of moun*
tain peak and erosion in the most brilliant and colorful
setting imaginable* The East Rim Trail is not less In-

242

Park and Bryce Canyon

spiring an^ affords the best view of the canyon itself
from Observation Point. One of the footpaths, leading
to the summit of Mount Zion, the highest accessible
point on the West Rim, consists of 14*00 steps cut in
the rock and has a 2000-foot cable balustrade. No other
government in the world has done so much for the
traveling public as ours in bringing these hitherto hid-
den corners of amazing beauty within reach. And the
steady increase in the annual number of visitors in the
last ten years shows that the average American traveler
is rising to his opportunity.

He is a venturesome writer who attempts a descrip-
tion of Bryce Canyon. Actually, Bryce is not a can-
yon, but an amphitheater three miles by two in extent,
shaped like a huge bowl 1000 feet deep and filled with
thousands upon thousands of intricately and delicately
eroded figures: castles, spires, monuments, peaks,
domes, fortresses, palisades, turrets, human figures,
faces every imaginable formation that the elements
might have fashioned out of brilliant red sandstone
and white limestone over tens of thousands of years.
And such color ! As a spectacle, I know of nothing with
which to compare it. Strange to say, there are none of
the hobgoblin forms so frequently seen in other examples
of erosion. Here everything is beautiful nothing dis-
turbs the exquisite symmetry and loveliness of Nature's
chiseling.

The softest combinations of bright reds, pinks and
creams dominate the whole magnificent display. A
superb cathedral, suggestive of Notre Dame in Paris,
fills the eye in one direction* A life-like effigy of Queen

243

Trails Through the Golden West

Victoria, mounted upon a rocky pedestal compels in-
stant recognition in another. Weather-worn holes in
lofty cliffs suggest oriel windows. Fascinating, elusive
beauty of line and tint. From the gorgeous perspective
of that fretted rim, nothing has any solidity it is
more suggestive of a luminous painting thrown upon a
screen, which might fade at any moment. If St. John,
in his Apocalyptic vision on Patmos Isle, had witnessed
such splendor as this, he could have declared with equal
fervor : "I saw a new heaven and a new earth." If you
are one of those who dislike anticlimax, leave Bryce
Canyon for your final view and then close your eyes
until you are well beyond the limits of that enchanted
spot.

Here again the National Park Service has dis-
tinguished itself in the carrying out of a series of
horseback and foot trails down the slopes of the am-
phitheater where the visitor may study these amazing
formations close at hand and he should not leave the
place until he does. There is an intensity about this ra-
diant desert scenery, accompanied by great heights and
depths, blazing color, and the curiosities of age-old
erosion, that leaves one breathless. And the warning
must be repeated that the traveler must not overdo it,
must not try to see too much in a short time, or stale-
ness will be the penalty* Take your time, look on these
wonders with the eye of the spirit as well as the physical
eye, and Nature will reveal herself to you*

244

The great red and white gorge of Zion Canyon is
about fourteen miles' long, varying in width from about
a mile to the reach of a man's outstretched arms.

-p jd

M

Pi 4

S *2

JS

<y ^ .JH

^

So

The Painted Desert Country

PINTADO DESIERTO" is the name that
Coronado and his swashbuckling conqmstadores
gave this country nearly 400 years ago. It comprises
more or less the northern middle portion of the State
of Arizona, including the Navajo and the Hopi Indian
Reservations, and is bounded on the west by the Grand
Canyon of the Colorado. Broadly speaking, however, it ,
might be said to embrace that tremendous expanse of
country extending from the lower half of the State
of Colorado on the north to the northerly portion of
Mexico on the south, involving all of New Mexico, Ari-
zona, Utah, Nevada, and a goodly section of California/
In brief it is that vast territory which, owing to the
prehistoric buckling of the earth's crust, subsided about
10,000 feet and lay quiescent for a few millions of
years at the bottom of an inland sea, which rushed
in to fill the depression. Subsequently, as was said in
an earlier chapter, the action was reversed and the
sunken territory with its thousands of feet of vari-
colored sediment was gradually forced upwards over a
mile above the surface and solidified into rock. Further

245

Trails Through the Golden West

internal disturbance followed, which accounts for the
great number of extinct volcanoes and extensive lava-
flows throughout the district.

To the traveler who takes his scenery from the car-
window this enormous spread of desert country looks
like a plain. As a matter of fact it is an immense pla-
teau from 6000 to 8000 feet high, dominated by lofty
mountains and ripped open by superb canyons ; scarred
by dry gullies and the beds of intermittent streams;
varied with sunken deserts, wide-spreading shallow
basins, immeasurable levels of unspeakable dreariness;
bold, rocky headlands slashed with a variety of colors,
fantastic buttes, picturesque mesas, and bits of verdant
valley here and there. Water and wind erosion and mil- >
lions of years of weathering have brought an astonish-
ing array of colors to the surface the red, blue, brown,
yellow, purple, and white that are characteristic of the
Grand Canyon, Rainbow Natural Bridge, the Petrified
Forests, and Monument Valley. It is this coloring that
has given the name "Painted Desert" to the region.

When we were exploring the Rainbow Bridge coun-
try, earlier in this book, wo saw something of the cliff-
dwellings. Hero we find many more of these curious
abodes, homes of the First Americans, with the same
characteristics. The cliff-dweller built in the sheer sides
of precipitous canyon walls, in caves, or on the summits
of almost inaccessible mesas and promontories, and
finally in pueblos or community houses on the valley
floors when he no longer feared invasion by hostile
tribes. He owes his survival to the grim fact that he
owned nothing that the white man coveted* Otherwise

The Painted Desert Country

he would have been driven out years ago, along with Ms
brethren of the desirable prairie country farther north,
and been confined like them on reservations, with
the doubtful advantages of education, tuberculosis, and
eventual extinction. This is not a pretty picture, but it
tells the truth about the Indian's fate. Hardly a man
today would care to father General Phil Sheridan's
genial bon mot to the effect that the only good Indian
is a dead Indian. It would lack point in our day, any-
how; except in the Southwest there aren't enough In-
dians left to give anybody serious concern. Only here
are they now to be found living under natural condi-
tions. There are approximately 10,000 Hopis, Havasu-
pais, and Wallapais, in addition to 35,000 Navajos
who are nomadic in character and whose deserted wicki-
ups or "hogans" are almost as numerous as the cliff-
dwellings.

The countless thousands of these cliff-dwellings
found all over this colorful country suggest that the
homes of these people had no more permanence than an
Arab's tent. For years it has been asked, "What be-
came of these people?" Their disappearance has been
accounted for by some wiseacres on the theory of ex-
termination by enemy tribes; others think that they
were wiped out by pestilence. As has been said earlier,
it is plain that they lived in continual fear of attack
this is proved by the virtual inaccessibility of the
eyries in which they built.

Of the large pueblos or community buildings, which
evidently belong to the period after they had ceased to
fear such attacks, we may learn more now that we

247

Trails Through the Golden West

are back again in this neighborhood. These great
houses, from two to six stories in height and elliptical
in shape, were located in irrigable valleys beneath the
lofty cliffs that had formerly served this people for
homes and that might once more serve as refuge in
emergency. The pueblo was built around a spacious
plaza or patio, and had but one doorway and no win-
dows facing outward. The only openings were peep-
holes or embrasures through which arrows might be
shot at the enemy. Entrance was always from the pa-
*lio by means of portable ladders leading from roof to
roof, and each story was "staggered" toward the
front, its roof containing a hole or trapdoor so that a
ladder could be lowered into the interior. At night the
outside ladders were all hauled up* A final point in the
defensive character of these buildings was the ingenious
nature of the doorways that connected the various
rooms : the lintels were too low for anyone to pass under
except by stooping, and the sill too high to step over
easily the doorway thus consisted merely of a verti-
cal opening just wide enough for a person to get
through by putting one leg across at a time, mean-
while having to bend almost double. Certainly any in-
vader had his work cut out for him; such doorways
could almost be guarded by a child*

These features make it worth the traveler^ while to
visit any one of the twenty-odd pueblos that are to be
seen, still inhabited, in the Painted Desert country*
Some of them antedate the Spanish occupation, others
are later in construction ; but architecturally they are
all alike* Of the twoscore the most famous, perhaps,

248

The Painted Desert Country

is Oraibi in HopilancL Here, from time immemorial, the
annual snake dance has attracted visitors from all over
the world. There are eight of these Hopi towns, all
located in the vast Navajo Reservation which com-
prises 25,000 square miles in northeastern Arizona.
The remainder consists of those musically named places
in New Mexico, which we have been familiar with since
childhood but which few have ever seen because they
are so far off the beaten track and so difficult to reach :
Acoma, "City of the Sky"; Zuni, one of the mythical
"Seven Cities of Cibola," whose fabulous riches tempted
the Spanish conquist adores of the sixteenth century:
Isleta, San Domingo, and Taos to the north. In this
vicinity also lies the famous Enchanted Mesa, a flat,
circular promontory rising 430 feet from the level of
the desert and practically unscalable.

According to folklore the inhabitants of Acoma for-
merly had their pueblos on the summit of the Enchant-
ed Mesa, which in that long-ago time was accessible.
One day when the whole tribe, except an old woman and
a couple of children, was down on the plains harvest-
ing, a terrible storm arose that continued for several
days, and it undermined the only approach to the sheer
cliffs of the mesa two great rock slabs which, having
been dislodged from above, had fallen against the foot
of the cliffs in such a way as to create a footpath to
a cleft in the rock that led to the top. The result was
that the old woman and the children perished, and the
tribe found a new home on the summit of Acoma, where
it has now lived for several centuries.

Whether or not the story is true, it is a well-estab-
249

Trails Through the Golden West

lished fact that the pueblo of Acoma is the oldest con-
tinuously inhabited town in the United States. It is
supposed to be accessible, and to a native it may
be; but the visitor's endurance will be severely tested
by the 350-foot climb up Acoma's sandy footpath,
where one sinks nearly to his ankles at every step and
then has to scramble hand-over-hand up a steep, rocky
ledge that contains only some prehistoric hand- and
toe-holds. If he manages to reach the summit, however,
he will probably decide that it was worth the effort. It
will make his blood run cold to see youngsters making
their way up this dangerous trail with the surefooted-
ness of a cat, For himself he will wish that somebody
were posted ahead of him to pull, and somebody else
behind to push, with still a third down below holding
a feather-bed in case of accident !

The summit, which is about ten acres In area, is de-
void of either trees or grass. Its principal features are
three great blocks of dwellings, each about a thousand
feet long, accommodating a population of some six
hundred souls, and a gaunt and grim church on the
very edge of the overhanging precipice. This church
was built in the middle of the seventeenth century and
is more like an ancient fortress than a house of prayer*
It is sixty feet high, with adob<a walls ten feet thick,
and is surmounted by two squat towers. That there
might be burials according to the Church's rites, the
zealous priests of that early day caused the natives
to carry to the top of the mesa sufficient earth from the
desert below to make a burying ground 200 feet square
in front of the church ; its farthest end falls away to a

250

The Painted Desert Country

depth of sixty feet, and this was duly filled in and a re-
taining wall laid up to hold it. All of this "holy
ground 3 * was laboriously borne upon the backs of
both men and women up that terrible trail, together
with the massive timbers, forty feet long by fourteen
inches square, which were brought by man-power alone
from the slopes of Mount San Mateo twenty miles
away.

According to tradition, affairs have not always
moved smoothly between the padres and the Acomans.
The story is told of a certain Baltazar Montoya who
was a priest on the great mesa in the early 1700's ; a
tyrannical despot who ruled his charges with a rod of
iron and exacted a burdensome tribute in the way of
labor. One night, after he had treated one of his house
servants with unusual brutality, a body of natives took
him from his quarters and threw him over the cliff.
For many years after this, Acoma was without a priest.
Since it is generally realized all through the South-
west, however, that neither the white man nor the
Mexican understands the workings of the Indian mind,
the incident caused no recriminations of any sort.

You will be interested to note that in this place the
conditions of daily life are quite unchanged from what
they were nearly four hundred years ago. For example,
although there are springs on the desert within a couple
of miles of the pueblo, all the drinking water for the
Acomans is brought from a picturesque sandstone
reservoir of pure rain water located on the southern
end of the mesa, which is really separated from the
mam upthrust by an impassable gorge. This necessi-

261

Trails Through the Golden West

tates a daily descent of that fearsome trail to the
desert level, a climb to the summit of the adjoining
mesa, and return all of which is done by the women*
For all other domestic purposes water is supplied by
natural reservoirs close by, consisting of great hollows
worn in the rock into which rainwater drains.

Despite any normal obstacles, Acoma and its nearby
neighbor the Enchanted Mesa, together with the pueblos
of Isleta and San Ildefonso on the famous Black Mesa,
and a score of equally interesting points in the vast
district of the Painted Desert are worth visiting if for
nothing more than the subjects that they offer for your
camera. The greatest obstacle of all, insurmountable
for years by the average traveler, has been overcome
by the establishment of a far-reaching motor-coach
detour service in connection with the Santa Fe* Rail*
way, which has brought all those hitherto difficult
points within easy reach. That before that time they
were practically inaccessible was not always due to
distance; in many cases the journey to them demanded
a complex expedition with a special equipment of
horses, wagons, and supplies, as well as experienced
men to handle it. Sometimes there were roads, some-
times not. Water might be found at a well-known water-
hole, or it might be dry. Such trips were more or less
hazardous and were out of the question for the ordi-
nary tourist. Today, that is all changed ; the introduc-
tion of desert motoring has annihilated greater diffi-
culties than distance. For the average traveler, how-
ever, even the motor journey must be combined with
railway transportation* One of the signal accomplish-

The Painted Desert Country

ments of this co-operation is the discovery of the vast
extent of the Painted Desert. For this region is notable
for the variety of the rewards it offers to the exploring
visitor, and for the many curious contrasts presented
by its scenery. There are those canyon rivers that
sometimes run dry suddenly, without giving notice ; the
cloudbursts that in twenty-four hours will convert
a normal stream into a torrent and turn a road-
way into a quicksand; and the deep blue sky in which
clouds are seen so rarely that the natives call them
"lost children."

Even more remarkable than the natural wonders of
this strange land are the aborigines who inhabit it.
Under conquest by the sword four centuries ago, this
people embraced the Christian religion, built churches
under compulsion, and scrupulously observed Christian
forms. But from that day to this they have never ceased
to practise their native pagan worship; they still prac-
tise polygamy on the quiet and punish marital infidelity
with mutilation and sometimes death. They have scien-
tifically irrigated their lands for centuries, and yet
they still believe in the efficacy of cutting off a mule's
ears to keep him from stealing grain. They maintain
fraternal organizations with lodge rooms, signs and
pass words as significant as any in modern times. They
marry by the Christian ceremony; they have their
children baptized by a Christian priest and christened
with Spanish names and then follow up both cere-
monies with pagan rites. Their repulsive and loathsome
snake dance is an annual religious observance of the
most solemn character. They propitiate the powers of

253

Trails Through the Golden West

darkness, regard a written letter as sorcery, never look
at their mothers-in-law, and regard it as an almost un-
pardonable sin for a son to smoke in the presence of
his father. And they will defend their beloved padre to
the death just so long as he lets them follow their own
sweet will.

Nor may we forget those utterly degraded Mexican
Penitentes who scourge themselves with fiendish cactus
thorns, slash themselves with knives, bear tremendous
crosses in heathenish processions until they faint from
the burden, and then offer themselves as voluntary
sacrifices for crucifixion thereon, with all the accom-
paniments of the ancient punishment including the nails
all for the acquirement of sufficient "merit" to bal-
ance a dissolute life for the remainder of the twelve-
month. Such are some of the contradictions that char-
acterize these ancient tribes and make their lives and
dwellings interesting to the traveler.

The inauguration of the motor-coach detours a few
years ago has meant first of all, the conversion of cer-
tain desert trails into good roads crisscrossing this
great country in every direction and bringing into
close touch various attractive points that formerly were
practically cut off from the traveler and from each
other as ^rell; Indian trading posts and government
agencies and schools, which used to be visited only as
necessity required. The ancient city of Sant^ F<, in
itself worthy of a visit, is the point from which most of
these detours radiate ; they extend as far east as the
New Mexico line and as far west as the Grand Canyon
of the Colorado, and one of them leads to the famous

The Painted Desert Country

Mesa Verde National Park in southwestern Colorado,
where there are some of the finest specimens of cliff-
dwellings known. These trips require anywhere from
two to eight days, according to th^ itinerary involved*
They have been more effective than any other agency
in bringing the hidden glories of the great Southwest
within reach of the tourist. No longer is it necessary
for the traveler through what was once terra incognita
to take all his scenery through the Pullman window.
With a comparatively small expenditure of money and
time he can find his way into the very heart of it under
ideal conditions. Some of the "high spots'* in those
motor-coach detours may be mentioned.

For picturesqueness, beauty of location, and meas-
ureless antiquity. El Rito de los Frijoles, or the Creek
of the Beans, is unrivaled. It is known today as the
Bandelier National Monument, in honor of the late
Adolf F. Bandelier, the great historian-archeologist
of the Southwest, who discovered it. This age-old,
secret place, colored with all the gorgeous volcanic bril-
liance characteristic of the lofty and spectacular Jemez
plateau, lies at an approximate elevation of 8000 feet
above the sea, forty-odd miles distant from Santa Fe
and 2000 feet above it. In the canyon below are the re-
mains of a magnificent pueblo, one of the few whose his-
tory has come down to us, handed down by word of
mouth by the old men of each succeeding generation of
the tribe of Cochiti. No explorer would, hare ever
thought of looking for "Tyu-on-yi" far up on the bleak
Jemez uplands any more than he would have expected
to find a canyon concealing it from prying eyes. tt$

255

Trails Through the Golden West

ancient history was known, however, to old Jose
Hilario Montoya, one of the Cochiteno principales, or
chiefs, and related by him to his "brother" Adolf Ban-
delier, and thus it was brought to light. The great
age and individuality of the pueblo led to its being
adopted, so to speak, by the School of American Re-
search, which maintains a summer school of archeology
in the canyon, in charge of the well-known Dr. Edgar
L. Hewett of Santa Fe, through whose unselfish efforts
a slow but steady restoration is proceeding. Tyuonyi,
as a canyon, is but six miles long by a quarter of a
mile wide and 500 feet deep. The pueblo lies a few
hundred yards above the point where the canyon enters
the gorge of the Rio Grande. Into this gorge flows the
"Creek of the Beans, 5 * which once constituted the water
supply for what is estimated to have been a village of
from 1500 to 2000 souls. It has a 500 foot wall of al-
most white tufa or pumice stone, and in this the builders
hewed a series of cave-dwellings about two miles long
and one, two, and three tiers deep, to which they added
their community house or pueblo, on the canyon floor
below and a long line of three-story terraced houses
at the base of the cliff. Thus it would seem that these
tribesmen built for all time. But it has been estab-
lished to the satisfaction of the archeologist that prob-
ably in a war with the progenitors of the hostile Apache
or Navajo, they destroyed Tyuonyi with their own
hands. At any rate, since that ancient period they
have made four different migrations and built as many
new pueblos in the same general vicinity. The latest
of these is the present village of Cuapa, twelve miles

256

The Painted Desert Country

northwest of Tyuonyi. Whatever the reasons for these
migrations, they cast an interesting light on the nu-
merous prehistoric dwellings all over the Southwest
which, it is generally conceded, do not necessarily
argue a correspondingly numerous population.

The ride from Santa Fe to Tyuonyi will provide all
the thrills you can conveniently stand in the course of
two or three hours. Out of the city through the valley
of Pojoaque, past primitive Mexican settlements to
the pueblo of San Udef onso, and across the Rio Grande.
From here you begin a 2000-foot climb up Otowi Can-
yon over the highly scenic Culebra Hill road, through a
magnificently forested country to the rim of Tyuonyi.
Gazing down into that enchanting valley, with the rays
of the sun burnishing the blood-red slashes in the white
tufa, you will note thousands of diminutive doorways,
and the holes where the ends of beams hewn out with a
stone axe were thrust through to support the tufa
houses at the base of the cliff. Here and there will be
seen the crude hand- and toe-holds that enabled those
sturdy folk to climb the fifty to two hundred feet up
the face of the cliff to their "apartments." You will
want to go down and undertake a bit of a climb, your-
self. The U. S. Forest Service has built an excellent
foot and horseback trail down the slopes of the canyon
at its shallowest point. You may take your time both
going and coming.

In all the Southwest there is no other place exactly
like this. All that its builders had with which to exca-
vate those hundreds of rooms were stone axes and obsid-
ian knives, and these served also to hew out the slabs

257

Trails Through the Golden West

of tufa with which they built the tiers of dwellings at
the foot of the cliff. If you investigate, you will find
that those "ground-floor" i .oms were not only built
on the outside but that they extended into the face of
the cliff itself. It is, without question, one of the most
prodigious exhibits of primitive building industry
known, beside which the making of bricks without straw
by the ancient Israelites seems mere child's play. If
you look closely while investigating those dark little
rooms, you will find holes in the floor of each, made in
order that the great Earth Spirit might find his way
in and out without hindrance, and the family be accord-
ingly blessed.

About 200 feet up the cliff may be found the cere-
monial cave, or estufa, which has been restored through
the work of the summer school. Also you will enjoy a
leisurely walk down through the canyon, under the
lofty pines and beside the singing stream, which later
becomes a brawling rapid as it rushes through the nar-
rowing walls of the canyon until it leaps over the edge
of a dizzy fall to the Rio Grande below. When you visit
Tyuonyi, the mellowing spirit of the place will slow
down your unconscionable desire to hurry on. Let it
have its way,

Off to the north from Blto de los Frijoles and on
the same lofty upland of the Jemez plateau lie the ruins
of Pu~y^, another prehistoric city of cave-dwellers, dif"
f ering- from Tyuonyi in being practically on a mountain
top while Tyuonyi is buried in a canyon. Both of these
places were dug out of the semi-soft volcanic tufa
or pumice. Pu~y is virtually a promontory of tufa 250

258

The Painted Desert Country

feet high, all that is left of a volcanic deposit of that
thickness which in prehistoric times covered the whole
of the Jemez upland. A forest of royal pines has taken
the place of the vast stretches of pumice that have been
swept away by erosion in the passing eons, creating
a beautiful setting for this old relic, whose sheer walls
are honeycombed in the same fashion as Tyuonyi. The
scenery on the motor road is exceptionally beautiful
as it rises from the grandeur of the Pajarito plateau,
coming to an end at the foot of the crannied cliffs.
Trails so ancient that they have been worn three feet
deep in the volcanic pumice by the tread of countless
generations lead up to the summit of the mesa, whence
an all-inclusive view, north, south, east and west, in-
describable in its magni6cence, greets the eye.

To the north, across the canyon formed by the be-
ginnings of the Santa Clara River, lies "Shu-fin-ne,"
another cave-city like Pu-ye, which flourished at the
same period of time. The remains of great community
houses overtop both these sightly spots. The Pu-ye site
has been excavated by the School of American Re-
search, disclosing a ground-plan of 218 by 80 feet,
containing 1600 rooms. Who can say that the antiquity
of Karnak and Palmyra rivals that of these vast eyries?
One thing is certain : Tyuonyi and Pu-ye can be visited
with great satisfaction in twq days from Santa Fe.

Having duly oriented yourself in Tyuonyi and Pu-
ye, you will enter upon a trip to beautiful Taos, a
combination of past and present, with much more ap-
preciation than if the conditions were reversed. Taos
lies away up in the hills, 75 miles from Santa Fe, in

259

Trails Through the Golden West

an exquisite setting. Its fame has gone out through
the world at large and has attracted artists and writers
by the hundreds, both at home and abroad* Its superb
pueblo, five stories high, divided in half by the spring-
clear, serenely flowing Taos River, with a background
of heavily forested mountains, 12,000 feet in altitude,
distinguishes it markedly from the other hill towns of
the Southwest. Its ancient Mission, the progenitor of
the more modern San Geronimo de Taos, dates back
to the Spanish occupation in 1540 an antiquity that
seems a trifle blurred by the close proximity of the
modern artists' studios.

In no other place do the ancient traditions of the In-
dians blend more completely with their church observ-
ances than here. Their old-time rites and ceremonies,
to which no white man is ever admitted, are never ques-
tioned by priest or Government official. Here is one
place where the Indian "makes and keeps his self -made
laws." If you go about it with proper regard for his
individuality, he will admit you to the pueblo and let
you see how he lives. He cares nothing for your opin-
ion and he appreciates the significance of a patroniz-
ing and complacent smile* In short, he is nobody's
fool.

Even if there were no Taos to see, however, the
beautiful ride would satisfy your soul. For twenty miles
it follows the canyon of the Rio Grande and that of
the Taos rivers. If you arrive on a day when the after-
glow bathes the heavens with a primrose tint that no
<migr of an artist has ever succeeded in reproducing,
or when the deep purple of the mountain peaku given

260

The Painted Desert Country

way to an evanescent lavender, you may call yourself
fortunate. Perhaps you will have time to drive up the
Arroyo Hondo and take a peep at the degraded Pen-
itentes a peep is about all you'll get, but it will be
enough. The old home of the famous scout Kit Carson,
which he occupied from the middle 1850's to 1868,
is BOW doing duty as an artist's studio, with a mag-
nificent view over the river, while his bones lie in the
little cemetery of Don Fernando. Past and present
mixed with a vengeance ! Never mind the inexpressible
natural loveliness of the Taos Valley will stay in your
memory. Incidentally, you will find it exceedingly inter-
esting to stop at Chimayo enroute and watch the In-
dians weaving their lovely rugs. There's no question
but that you will leave a piece of money behind you
in exchange for a souvenir that will gladden your eye
for many a day.

Travelers who find their way into this ancient coun-
try should linger long enough to let the indescribable
beauty of the Sangre del Cristo mountains seep into
their souls. You may be sure that that title, ''Blood of
Christ," was bestowed by some highly imaginative and
emotional spirit among the Spanish explorers. At
any rate, when you see that celestial range glowing In
the rays of the setting sun, you will understand how
he must have felt, and any disposition to criticize his
nomenclature will vanish. The impressiveness of New
Mexico's amazing natural color scheme does not stop
with the Painted Desert ; it only begins there. As the
sun-rays slant from a cloudless sky the colors slowly
billow up the mountain-sides to the high peaks and rise

261

Trails Through the Golden West

majestically toward the zenith with an intensity that
is overwhelming. At other times you imagine that you
cfin see their material embodiment reaching the top^
most ridge and rolling down the other side.

Only four days have thus been spent in a detour
that includes Tyuonyi, Pu~y, and Taos, three of the
most interesting spots in this expanse of mountain and
desert places that otherwise could hardly be reached
in less than two weeks. Remember that there have been,
in past years, thousands of travelers who have been
content to make these trips on muleback and in spring-
less wagons and would gladly do it again if there were
no other method of transportation. And in the same
easy way you can make other worth-while trips in half a
dozen different directions from Santa Fe\ An example is
Carlsbad Cavern to the south.

From a hole in the side of a mountain, peopled by
millions of bats for millions of years and valued solely
for its guano deposit, to a natural attraction which
registered nearly 90,000 pilgrims in 1980 such is the
brief record of the spectacular Carlsbad Cavern, in the
Guadalupe Range in New Mexico, since its discovery
in 1923 and opening to the public two years later.

This is one of the youngest of our National Parks,
and one of the most promising because of what are be-
lieved to be its unlimited possibilities* The cavern, which
is of tremendous size, has already been explored for a
distance of nearly thirty miles and a depth of over 1000
feet and the end is not yet. The late Dr. Willis T. Lee,
of the U. S* Geological Survey, the first scientist to
investigate this underground wonder, and the m&n who

262

O ^H

rH
r/j ,-Q

> -M

cti ^
P O

a;

g a a

Gtf *2p

*S Ja d

T3 ^ ""

rt 0) '''

St5^

The Painted Desert Country

penetrated its depths farther than anybody else, was of
the opinion that its limits would not be reached for
years, if at all. That there is an outlet is proved by the
purity and freshness of the atmosphere in its deepest
and most Stygian parts.

The entrance gives no slightest hint of the marvels
below. It consists in an immense, vaulted passageway
that winds downward for over half a mile. Powerful
electric lights send their rays into the deep shadow
overhead, so that any conception of probable dimen-
sions is impossible. It is only when you reach what
might be termed the first level, where you can both see
and touch, that you appreciate the amazing beauties
of the innumerable stalactites and stalagmites and of
the delicate incrustations formed by the eternal drip-
ping of the miracle-working water. The National Park
authorities realized at the outset that ordinary electric
lighting would prove only an exasperation in a place
like this it would be like trying to light up the sky
with a hand-torch. Flood-lighting was the only method
that would insure adequate illumination of the glories
of the place; and everything that could enhance their
mystic wonder has been done.

Such barbaric and Oriental ornamentation as has
been created by the constant movement of water
charged with carbonate of calcium, from the vaulted
roof down the sides of the limestone walls, over huge
mushroom-like deposits, is not to be seen in any other
caves in the world* Delicate and dainty crystalline sta-
lactites, met halfway down by ascending stalagmites
suranouated by filigreed cups that give out a musical,

263

Trails Through the Golden West

bell-like ring when struck. Gorgeous curtains of lumi-
nous flowstone, over which the light plays with ineffable
tenderness. Every imaginable formation of the most ex-
quisite onyx, drenched in various colors. Filmy veils and
stone "icicles" by the millions overhead, buttressed by
deeply etched pillars that weigh thousands of tons and
rise from the floor like huge trees the construction of
which has been going forward for millions upon mil-
lions of years.

When you visit this mysterious fairyland, try to for-
get that geology has had anything to do with it. Leave
all your scientific explanations behind you, and if there
happens to be a talkative savant in your party, pledge
him to silence or make him travel by himself. All you
will need for a guide is Aladdin with his Lamp, and all
that you need carry is a letter of introduction to Sind-
bad the Sailor. Waiting for you in this Wonderland
will be Alice and the March Hare. Assume such an
attitude as this and you will be ready to enjoy the
cavern to the fullest.

This is particularly true of your visit to the Big
Room. The place is so huge that those who named it
were baffled and so they just called it by those two
ordinary words. It will probably prove to be the most
astonishing room you ever saw. Lying a mile and a
half from the entrance, it is cut out of the solid lime-
stone, three-quarters of a mile long, with a maximum
width of 625 feet and a ceiling 300 feet high. Or rather,
there was a ceiling there once, unquestionably, many
millions of years ago ; now it is covered with thousands
upon thousands of icicle-like pendants, dainty and

264

The Painted Desert Country

fragile things, some no thicker than a pipestem, from
which the electric light is reflected at every angle. Huge
bosses of onyx-like monster candelabra are ranged side
by side with these stony tendrils, while from below
rise enormous fluted and fretted columns like totem-
poles, whose tops are lost in the shadows overhead. Ex-
cept for its temperature the place is more like a huge
ice-cave than anything else, for the thermometer here
maintains a registration of 56 degrees the year round.

On all sides you will see statuary of the most ornate
carving, and will find yourself trying to follow its de-
signs under the brilliance of the electric lights, only
to note that they elude you in puzzling fashion. In the
floor are the basins of prehistoric springs. Some of
these springs are gone dry; others, artistically en-
crusted with pink and white onyx, contain crystal-clear
water; still others reflect the turquoise-blue, jade-green,
shell-pink, and cream tints of the surrounding forma-
tions. Fantastic proscenium arches have filmy, translu-
cent drop-curtains through which may be descried
shadowy actors about to appear upon the stage. In-
deed, the traveler with an active imagination may find
almost anything he looks for in this, titanic gallery,
conceived and executed in unbroken darkness by a
master hand throughout untold ages and brought to
light by electricity. Other rooms there are which vie
with the Big Room in every feature except size. The
entire sight-seeing circuit covers six miles, out of the
thirty-five miles of intricate trails that have been ex-
plored but are not open to the public.

The visitor who spends the early evening at the
265

Trails Through the Golden West

Cavern will behold a sight which is as curious in its
way as the Cavern itself: the daily flight of the bats,
In sections remote from the scenic portions the bat
colony has made its home since prehistoric times. Every '
summer evening, at an hour that does not vary from
year to year, they issue from the entrance in countless
millions, like an ascending spiral of smote, bound on
their nightly foraging. The flight consumes two hours,
almost to the very minute. Returning in the early morn-
Ing, they hole up for the day. With the arrival of cold
weather they hibernate for the winter. It was the dis-
covery of the bats and the tremendous guano deposits,
of which over 100,000 tons have been removed in the
last forty years, that led to the disclosure of the Cavern
itself. The pioneer in this exploration was Jim White,
a rancher with a liking for investigation ; what time he
could spare from excavating guano, he devoted to pene-
trating that limitless labyrinth with guiding strings,
wire ladders, a miner's lamp, and innumerable balls of
twine. White builded better than he knew, for it was
wholly on the basis of his findings that Dr. Lee made
the first scientific exploration, The Cavern may be
reached by taxi from the city of Carlsbad, New Mexico,
on the Santa F Route; by the Santa F^ Detours from
Santa F6; or by motor-coach from El Paso on the
Southern Pacific*

A northerly trip that can be made from either Santa
F$, Gallup* or Winslow, may include that monumental
masterpiece among cliff-dwellings, Mesa Verde National
Park in the southwestern corner of Colorado, 8000
feet up in the mountains; spectacular Shiprock, one
260

The Painted Desert Country

of those gorgeously colored left-overs from the pre-
historic sea that once covered this terrain, whose out-
lines resemble a full-rigged ship when the angle of the
sun's rays is right; Monument Valley, not far from
WetherilPs trading post at Kayenta, Arizona, which
might be classified as a whole fleet of "Shiprocks"
tremendous pink cliffs from 500 to 1200 feet high,
eroded into a thousand bizarre shapes that you will
want to photograph; and Chaco Canyon, with the
wonderful remains of "Pueblo Bonito," which is believed
to represent the highest achievement of those ancient
builders. Pueblo Bonito is a building 1300 feet in cir-
cumference and five stories high, with retaining walls
48 feet in height. This mammoth dwelling contained at
least 1200 rooms and 27 ceremonial kivas or estufas
from 10 to 50 feet in diameter, affording an idea of
the number of people it housed estimated at some
3500.

About fifty miles south of Gallup, New Mexico,
stands the oldest and most historically important land-
mark in this hemisphere: "Inscription Rock." Majesti-
cally dominating the desert like a towering finger-
pointer of pink sandstone, it shoots skyward two hun-
dred and twenty feet, guarding the age-old Indian trail
between Zufii Pueblo and the Rio Grande. Owing to its
resemblance to a battlemented castle, the Spaniards
gave it the name of El Morro at the time of its discov-
ery in 1600, My old friend "Don Carlos," otherwise
the late Charles F. Lummis, now blazing new trails in
the Elysian Fields, and to whom the scenic Southwest

267

Trails Through the Golden West

owes more than to any other man, called it the Stone
Autograph Album.

On the smooth sides of both the north and south
exposures of this vast monolith may be found the pic-
turesque autographs and records of a score of those
hardy Spanish adventurers who followed Coronado in
his search of the "Seven Cities of Cibola" nearly three
and a half centuries ago. Think of training your camera
on the most ancient and most permanent record of any
historical event in the New World, three hundred and
twenty-seven years after it was made.

There, on the side of titanic El Morro, under a bit
of rocky overhang which has protected it from weather-
ing, will be found the autograph of Don Juan de Onate,
founder and first Governor of what is today the State
of New Mexico. An autograph indeed, traced by the
point of the doughty Spaniard's dagger, recording an
event in which he took no small degree of personal
pride:

"Pas6 por aqui el Adelantado
don Juan de Qftate del
descubrimento de la mar
del Sur a 16 $e Abrtt
Ao 1605"

of which a literal translation may be rendered thus :

Passed by here the Commander
Don Juan de 00ate from the
268

The Painted Desert Country

discovery of the sea of the
South on the 16th of April,
year 1605.

What Don Juan de Onate had accomplished in that
early day that occasioned so much pardonable pride
was a march across five hundred miles of waterless des-
ert to the Gulf of California and return to Santa Fe,
which city he founded that same year. A little jaunt
of a thousand miles, in which he was accompanied by
an "army" consisting of two padres and thirty footmen.
He completed the journey in ninety days, during which
he visited the Zuni and Moqui Pueblos, just as you may
do today on this detour trip. The chances are you will
find them unchanged.

Close by Don Juan de Onate's autograph will be
found that of Don Diego de Vargas, the General who
"pacified" New Mexico after the Pueblo Indian out-
break in 1680, the record having been made in 1692.
A variety of inscriptions in quaint Spanish will be
found on these pink walls bearing dates all the way
from 1605 to 1736,, not to mention a number of un-
worthy "John Smiths" of more Decent times, some of
whom did not balk at scratching out the names of their
Spanish betters to make room for their own. Since the
Government converted El Morro into a National Monu-
ment, with a custodian in charge, these offenses have
ceased. The first Americans to set eyes on this ancient
landmark were Lieutenant J. H. Simpson of the U. S.
Army and an artist by the name of R. H. Kern. They
visited El Morro September IT, ,1849, made copies of

269

Trails Through the Golden West

the inscriptions and left their own record etched on
the face of the rock.

By all means take the trail to the Stone Autograph
Album, bearing in mind that this highway through
Zuni Canyon is older than colonial history, antedating
the exploits of Coronado's swashbucklers in the early
1500's. It might heighten your interest to recall that
the next important American historical event after
Don Juan inscribed his autograph on the rocky face
of El Morro, was the landing of the Pilgrims at
Plymouth Rock, fifteen years later. As you follow the
centuries-old highway in a high-powered motor-car, the
incongruity of the situation will steal over you for a
moment. It will but enhance your pleasure, however,
to realize that otherwise you might never have cast an
eye on this most precious antiquity of the Southwest.
And when you reach the base of that lofty pile,, you may
find it worth while to avail yourself of the prehistoric
foot-holes in the rock to climb the summit where you
will find the remains of two pueblos facing each other
across a fearsome chasm. And you will wonder which
is the older, the pueblos or the gorge that separates
them.

These detours have brought within easy access, also,
two of the most famous and brilliant canyons in north-
western Arizona, which have probably been the goal
of more pack-train expeditions than any other one
spot: Canyon de Chelly with its twenty-four miles of
blaring beauty, and Canyon del Muertotwo amazing
gorges that join each other. From their great wall of

270

The Painted Desert Country

red sandstone, 800 to 1000 feet high, project enormous
pinnacles, buttresses, and towers, so beautiful as to
create the effect of a well-defined plan, rather than
the work of erosion. Through the center runs a stream
that gives the Indians all the water they need for irri-
gation. Overhead, anywhere from 300 to 500 feet, set
on ledges not more than three feet wide allowing just
room enough for a footpath may be seen diminutive
cliff-houses clinging to recesses in the walls. Few of
these houses exceed a dozen feet in length, eight or ten
feet in depth, and five to seven feet in height, outside
measurements. Only a dwarf could stand erect in them.
This does not, however, prove that their tenants were
dwarfs ; it was doubtless just another means of mat-
ing entrance more difficult for invading enemies. These
old-time builders were among the earliest exponents of
the doctrine of Safety First, and the difficulties that
they surmounted in locating and constructing their
homes constituted their guarantee that the invader
would find it hard to get in. Of these tiny houses lining
the cliffs on both sides of Canyon de Chelly the most
interesting and attractive i& known as the White House,
owing to the amount of lime in the adobe of which it is
built. Here Kit Carson won a bloody fight with the
Indians. Canyon del Muerto Valley of Death is so
called because of the number of Indians killed on this
spot during that same sanguinary period, when the
length of a white man's life depended largely on his
ability to outguess his enemy. Today, however, the
well-irrigated floor of Canyon de Chelly is covered with
the chili, corn, alfalfa, and melon patches of the

271

Trails Through the Golden West

Navajos. The savage rides on his raids no more. But
whether he sows or reaps, whether the white man conies
or goes, the Indian's tribal gods will not cease to
beckon from the blood-red, sun-washed, towering crags
of mighty Chelly, and the Indian will be at peace.

272

112794